


Blue Eyes, Red Blood

by Lost_in_stars



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Blood, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Billy Hargrove, Gore, Horror, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Murder, Steve Harrington Kills People, accidental murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22278748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_in_stars/pseuds/Lost_in_stars
Summary: “Oh yeah?” Billy scoffed. “What is it you have to hide, huh? The teddy bear you sleep with or the fact you suck your fucking thumb? My suggestion, Harrington, is that you leave before you get tangled up in my shit.”“Do you want help or not, Hargrove?”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Original Male Character(s), Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Neil Hargrove/Susan Hargrove
Comments: 12
Kudos: 131





	1. The Evidence

Billy had done a lot of bad stuff in his days. Drugs, muggings, beating up innocent people. And yeah, a lot of the people he used to hang around with went to hospital, mostly because of him. Sometimes they were left permanently damaged, and sometimes they were absolutely fine, but they never _died_. He’d never _killed_ anyone.

Until now.

Billy Hargrove, Californian bad boy, stood over the dead body of his father. The man laid limp at his feet, blood spurting out of his neck, staining the mans white dress shirt red. His hand was gripping Billy’s ankle tightly, a last beg for help, perhaps. Billy’s foot was beginning to go numb. No, his entire body was numb.

Meters away, Neil’s car was parked on the side of the road. At nine pm, he and Billy had been driving in it when they had started to argue. When Neil made a move to push Billy’s head into the window, the boy had quickly pulled out his pocket knife and stabbed his hand. His heart had been pumping, his ears ringing, when Neil pulled over and jumped out. Billy wasn't sure why he chased him. It was a short race, as Billy was faster than Neil was, and soon the man was caught. Billy pulled the knife across his neck and stepped back, watching as the man fell to the ground. Blood stained Billy’s face and hands as he stared blankly at the body on the ground.

The only sound around them was Billy’s panting breaths and the rustling of the wind in the trees. The world seemed too calm to synchronise Billy’s storm of rage inside him. In the movies, once somebody died, it was never quiet. There would be background music, or maybe somebody screaming, but as Billy stood in front of the body he could only hear silence. The world was calm. Maybe because it knew that the person they lost wasn't even worth a drop of rain to mourn him.

_He was a bad, bad person_ , Billy told himself silently. _He was going to hurt me. He was going to hurt me again. He was a bad, bad person._

In the distance, there was the sound of a car rumbling towards them. Billy stood deathly still, panicked, unsure what to do about the body of his father on the ground and the knife in his left hand. Did he move the body? Did he run? What the fuck could he do?

The car pulled to a stop beside Neil’s ute, and Billy turned, staring into the blinding white lights. The door opened and out stepped Steve Harrington, his face twisted with confusion. Billy tugged his foot away from the death grip of his father.

_Shit_.

Unsure what to do, Billy murmured, “He was going to hurt me again.”

And Steve said, “Okay. We need to get rid of the evidence.”

There was a beat of silence, in which Billy and Steve stared blankly at each other, the body limp between them. In the light of the moon and his cars headlights, Steve’s eyes looked almost black. Gone were the playful, warm puppy eyes that Billy had grown accustomed to, replaced by the darkness and secrecy Billy was beginning to realise that Steve kept hidden. Billy found himself wondering… _Has Steve done this before?_ Followed by a second, more confusing thought: _Would I care if he had?_

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, breaking the silence. “Did he actually hurt you?”

“How,” Billy spat out. “Are you so fucking _calm_ , when I am standing over the _fucking dead body of my goddamn father_ , with _blood on my fucking hands_?!”

“Look,” The boy replied, moving forward, but not too close, Billy noticed. “Put the knife down, Hargrove. Don’t panic. There’s two ways this can play out, man. You can put the knife down, let me help you. We get rid of the body, and nobody ever has to know. Or, you hold onto the knife, get mad at me, and I get in my car and head down to the cops right now.”

“Why are you helping me?” Billy asked wearily, lowering the knife. “I… I don't know you like that, Harrington. Why are you getting involved in my shit? I beat you up like… Two weeks ago, remember? I– I tormented you every day at school! I was an _asshole_ , and here you fucking are, offering to… To… To get r-rid of a body with me!” He was ashamed to find his voice was quivering – his entire body was shaking. He was staring directly into Steve’s eyes, because fuck, even looking at Steve’s fucked up face, something that _he_ caused, was better than looking down at the blood pooled at his feet.

Steve wrapped his hand around Billy’s, taking the pocket knife away and tossing it three feet away. It clattered onto the road. “Calm down,” He said, his hand feeling cold against Billy’s warmth. “Calm down, okay? I… Uh… I already hide a lot of secrets, alright? One more, its not gonna do shit.”

“Oh yeah?” Billy scoffed. “What is it you have to hide, huh? The teddy bear you sleep with or the fact you suck your fucking thumb? My suggestion, Harrington, is that you leave before you get tangled up in my shit.”

“Do you want help or not, Hargrove?”

Silence again. Billy hated it when there was silence. With a sigh, he tugged his hand away from Steve’s and looked down at the feet, accidentally gaining eye contact with Neil’s lifeless body. Vomit bubbled up inside him, and he resisted the urge to bend over and retch out his guts. He had _seen_ dead bodies before, much worse than this. Froth coming out of their mouths, needles stuck in their arms. As a child, Billy had been dared to go up to the stinking car that sat in the school parking lot. When he had opened the door, the corpse of a convicted paedophile had fallen out. Billy hadn't been scared of them. But when he looked at Neil, he felt fucking _sick_. Maybe because he was the one who had taken the man’s life. He was a fucking _murderer_.

His life as a felon flashed before his eyes then. He’d go to jail, he’d eat their disgusting prison food and probably get raped and he’d die there, all because he refused help from Steve Harrington.

So, with the eyes of the corpse digging into his, he answered Steve. “Yes. I want help.”

“Right,” Steve patted Billy on the shoulder softly, almost as if Billy was a scared animal. “Okay. We need to dump both the body and the car, okay? Probably at the bottom of a lake. Here’s whats gonna happen...”

Nearly half an hour later, Billy and Steve stood at the edge of the lake, breathless, watching as the car with Neil’s body in it sunk to the bottom of the lake, the only giveaway that it had ever been there the bubbles that had risen to the top.

“We need to burn these clothes,” Steve said then. “Come back to my place, alright? I’ll give you some clothes, you can have a shower and make sure we get our stories straight, and then you can go home and act like none of this ever happened.”

Billy really wanted to cry. Instead, he nodded, eyes still on the watery grave of his father. “Yeah,” He agreed quietly. “Probably should do that.”

“You okay?” Steve asked, touching Billy’s hand. The blonde flinched away, turning and walking back to Steve’s car.

Sometime during the long ride home, Steve turned the radio on. _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ was playing. Steve hummed along to it, blood smeared on his face. It was so ridiculous, Billy almost laughed. He would have, if he hadn't just killed his father and dumped the body and car in a fucking lake. But damn, Steve humming along to the girly song would have been such great blackmail if Billy could ever mention that night again.

Steve’s shower was so much better than the one he had at home. The water seemed to hit all the right spots, massaging his back perfectly. He watched the blood rush down the drain, ears ringing. When he emerged, he found a pile of clothes left at the sink that were obviously for him.

Steve was outside in the backyard, hair damp and fluffy from the shower, dressed in a fresh sweater and pair of tracksuit pants, watching his and Billy’s clothes burn in his fire pit. Billy watched him from the door for a while, mesmerised by the sight of Steve, skin flickering with shadows in the light of the fire. After standing there silently for nearly two minutes, Steve called, “Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to come over here?”

Cheeks tinged pink, Billy headed over to where Steve was standing. The heat of the fire warmed Billy’s hands when he held them over, cold from the cold weather of Hawkins’ November. He looked down at his calloused hands, surveying the gnawed at fingernails. He had been biting them again. It was a nervous habit.

“Hands are interesting, aren't they?” Steve said. For a moment, Billy thought he was teasing him, but when he looked up he noticed the look in Steve’s dark eyes was both sincere and curious. Steve continued to speak. “Sometimes I can look at peoples hands for ages. Its sort of weird to… To look at hands and think about all the things they’ve done. Nancy says they hold stories.”

_I killed someone, I killed my dad, I killed my father, he’s dead, I killed him, he’s dead and we dumped his body in a lake and–_ “What stories have your hands got?”

“Eh,” Steve looked down, a small grin on his face. “Good stories. Bad stories. All normal, nothing special.”

Billy wanted to scream. _Nothing special?! We ditched my dads body in a lake!_ Instead, he felt as if he was too weak, to fragile, to snap. Not even three hours had passed since he had slit his own fathers throat, yet he already found himself missing how things used to be. Four hours beforehand, he was someone with no blood on his hands. Scars on his heart, yeah, and a fuck ton of regrets, but… Murder… That was different.

“Yeah,” Billy agreed quietly. “Nothing special.”

It was nearly two in the morning when Steve dropped Billy off at home. They had been sitting in Steve’s lounge, awkwardly discussing their alibis for a while ( _Steve and him were hanging out, Billy hadn't seen Neil since six, he and Steve were just messing around, playing with the fire pit, smoking cigarettes and drinking booze. What, his dad was missing? He didn't know!_ ). Billy stood on the lawn for moment, watching as Steve’s car disappeared in the distance, then snuck inside through his bedroom window. As usual, his door was locked, and the basketball he had put in front of the door hadn't been moved, so he knew that nobody had entered. That was good.

The sheets on his bed were pulled tightly across the mattress, absolutely perfect. Billy made his bed every morning, because Neil would get mad if it was pristine. His bed looked really inviting. Billy wanted to crawl onto it, curl up, and pretend the day had never happened.

That was exactly what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. Another Harringrove fanfiction! Yay! This book is going to be dark, really dark. It obviously includes gore, but don't worry! I'll eventually steer away from my angst and give you some fluff.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	2. Dustin, Your Marshmallow Is On Fire

Billy was being shaken awake by Susan the next morning. He groggily rolled over, asking what time it was. Without even getting an answer, he glanced at his alarm clock and sat up immediately. “Shit!” He exclaimed, throwing the blankets off himself. “I’m late for school! He’s gonna kill me!”

“Wait, Billy,” Susan squeaked, her eyes red, like she had been crying. “Neil… Neil is missing. He has been since last night.”

All at once, the night before come rushing back to him. The knife in his hand, the blood on his clothes. Steve’s dark, haunted eyes. The bubbling of the water as the car sank to the bottom of the lake. His clothes burning, alongside Steve’s, to get rid of the evidence. Finally, the knife, which he had left at Steve’s house, who said he was going to throw it into the river as soon as he could and buy Billy another one to replace it, so nobody would suspect it.

Billy looked down at his hands, staring at them. For a split second, he swore he saw them stained red with the blood of his father, but quickly dismissed the thought. He began to shake, trying to remember what he and Steve had talked about last night. “I--” He tried, then swallowed and tried again. “Where is he?”

“They don’t know,” Susan tearfully said. “I thought he just went to work early but-- But he didn't leave a note or anything so I called his office and they said he hadn't turned up. So I tried to think of the last time I saw him, and that w-was last night. His car is missing too!”

_No, its just at the bottom of the lake_. “Shit...” He whispered as she burst into tears. “Ah… Shit, Susan… Come on, I’m sure he’s fine.”

“ _You need to act natural,”_ Steve had said the night beforehand. _“When they tell you he’s gone, act sad. He was your father, after all. You gotta pretend you miss him. And always use present tense, not past tense. When the cops come around, which they will, you quickly take a statement and then come to me if you’re feeling scared.”_

Following Steve’s advice, Billy started to tear up a little too. He thought about his mum, that did the trick. He thought about her leaving. Soon, tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he even made an effort to hug Susan back when she wrapped her arms tightly around him and bawled. “What if he’s dead, Billy?!” She howled. “What if he’s _dead_?!”

“Um--”

He was saved by Maxine, who entered his bedroom, still wearing her pyjamas. At the sight of Billy’s uncomfortable face, she sighed and patted her mother on the back. “Come on, mum,” She said softly. “I’m sure he’s fine. Why don't you go and phone Katie? Her husband might know where he is.”

Susan nodded weakly, letting Max help her up, before, to Billy’s horror and embarrassment, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. “We’ll find him,” She said, still crying. “He’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Billy agreed. “We’ll find him.”

He waited until they had gone, the door closed, before Billy started to panic. He shook so hard he could barely get up. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

Billy was suddenly struck by an overwhelming desire to go to Steve’s house. Steve could fix things. Steve was good at fixing things, right?

Quickly, he stood up and started looking around for something to wear. He was still dressed in Steve’s clothes from the night before, so he took them off and grabbed some jeans, a hoodie, and his boots. Steve’s clothes were placed into a bag, neatly folded. He messed with his hair for a moment before ruffling his natural golden curls and putting on a beanie. It was only going to be Steve that was seeing him after all… The night beforehand, he had looked much worse.

Susan was sitting by the phone when he exited his bedroom. She glanced up, her eyes widening when she saw Billy dressed. “Are you going to look for him?” She questioned, chewing on her knuckles.

“Something like that, yeah,” Billy muttered, used to his usual sarcastic answers to questions. But, at Susan’s teary eyes, he sighed and nodded. “I have this… Friend. He knows a bunch of people, and, uh, he’ll ask around for you. Maybe we’ll look together.”

“Be home by two!” She called timidly after him. “The police want you to take a statement!”

_Fuck_.

Billy tossed the plastic bag with Steve’s clothes into the front seat of his camaro before walking around and getting into the drivers seat. He sped to Steve’s house, pulling up the driveway and parking behind Steve’s car. On the ground, beside the shed, were two silver bikes. With a quiet groan, Billy realised Steve must have had the shits he babysat over.

Voices were coming from around the side of the house, where the pool was, so Billy quietly walked over, dead leaves crunching beneath his feet. Steve was sitting on one of the chairs, a cigarette between his lips and a bottle of beer in front of him. Gathered around the fire pit, roasting marshmallows, were two of Max’s little friends, one of which being Lucas Sinclair.

The curly-haired boy with the truckers hat spotted him first. His mouth fell open in horror and he grabbed the closest thing he could use as a weapon, which happened to be Lucas’ roasting stick. A half burnt marshmallow sat, spiked on the end. Billy resisted the urge to snigger as the boy shouted, “Get behind me, Lucas! We wont let him hurt you!”

“Jesus Christ, guys, calm the fuck down,” Steve said. “Billy’s cool now. He’s just here to talk. Dustin, your marshmallow is on fire.”

“Don’t you remember what he did to Lucas?!” The kid, Dustin, shrieked. He ignored the marshmallow, which was burning steadily on the stick in his other hand.

“Yeah, I remember,” Steve rolled his eyes, standing up. “He’s _cool_ now. You two need to get home anyway. Grab your shit.”

The two began to protest, so Steve added, “ _Now_. I’ll pick you two up tomorrow.”

After warily sidestepping around Billy, the kids left with only a few whispered threats echoing in Billy’s ears. He rolled his eyes and approached Steve, who instantly handed him a bottle of unopened beer. “Alright,” He said. “Whats up, man?”

“Don’t you fucking _whats up, man_ , me,” Billy hissed. “Stop acting so fucking natural!”

“At least wait until they’re gone,” Steve replied, before looking over Billy’s shoulder. “Now!” He shouted. “Fuck _off_ , guys, we’re _fine_!”

Billy spun around quickly, wide eyes. Dustin and Lucas were peeking over the fence, but they scurried away once noticed.

And shit, Billy thought about all the times Steve was called on during class. The confused, questioning look he shot at the teacher, which caused the rest of the students to laugh. He thought about Steve’s face when Tommy told him Nancy had run off with Jonathan Byers. Betrayed, annoyed. He thought about Steve at a party, a couple of weeks after he and Nancy had broken up, trying to hit on a girl. Awkward, yet sweet. Finally, he thought about Steve’s face when he talked about getting rid of Neil’s corpse. It seemed that the only thing Steve knew how to do was kill and dispose of bodies.

Another thing dawned upon him as he watched Steve glare at the children vanishing down the driveway. Where the fuck were Steve’s parents?

“Okay,” Steve said a moment later. “They’re gone. You can speak now.”

Billy looked away from Steve’s dark eyes before he could find himself questioning his sanity again. The pool came into his vision, and, as if he was a puppet being moved, he began to walk towards it, dropping the plastic bag as he did so. When he looked down into the blue water, brown leaves floating past, he noticed something at the bottom.

The water was turning red. It was blood. There was fucking blood. And, sitting at the bottom of the pool, his throat slit, his mouth hanging wide open, was Neil. The man gulped, as if gasping for air, and reached his arm up to point at Billy. A leaf floated past and the body was gone.

“I...” Billy bent down, reaching out to run his fingers through the freezing water. “Did you see that? That was my dad! That was my dad!”

“No,” Steve’s arm slid around Billy’s shoulders, causing the blonde to stand up straighter. “I’m sorry. That wasn't him. Whatever you saw, it wasn't him.”

Billy turned his blue eyes to look up at Steve’s brown ones. “How do you know?” He questioned. “How do you know how to get rid of a body? How are you so calm about killing?”

There was a beat of silence before Steve whispered, “I got used to doing bad things. I came to terms with it. And you will too. It might just take a while.”

“You’re insane,” Billy stated, tugging away from Steve. “How many have you fucking killed?!”

“I--”

“How many?!”

“I can’t tell you that,” Steve said. His eyes had lost all of the emotion they usually carried. He stared blankly at Billy. “But I promise you, they all deserved it.”

“You’re insane,” Billy repeated. “You’re fucking insane, Harrington. You… You act like killing people is normal! It’s not! Its fucking crazy, you’re a goddamn psychopath!”

“Stop being a hypocrite, okay?” Steve snapped. “You killed your dad. You slit his throat. He didn't die instantly. He would have… He just laid there and bled out, and what did you do? You watched him, Billy. You just stood there and watched as your father bled to death in front of you.”

Billy turned and kicked on of the pool chairs. It skidded across the concrete, crashing to a stop as it hit the side of Steve’s house. “ _I didn’t mean to_!” He roared. “ _It was an accident_!”

He was suddenly overcome with a wave of emotions. His hands shook as he knotted them into his hair, tugging lightly as if to calm himself down. “I didn't mean to kill him,” He whispered.

Steve stepped forward, pulling Billy’s hands away from his hair and tangling his fingers with Billy’s. “I know,” He said. “Its okay. You’re okay.”

Billy decided it would be easier not to feel. He wondered how Steve did it. How he kept going after he killed someone – or maybe an entire group of people. Because fuck, Billy felt like he was drowning. As if he was walking on eggshells. Every single step he took, he expected somebody to grab him and drag him to prison. Every single thought that popped into his head was about his father. The man he killed.

Maybe it would have been easier if Billy fully hated Neil. But the thing was, he didn't. Neil was a horrible person, he abused Billy and pushed his opinions onto him and made his mother leave him, but he had still been a _person_. He loved, and he hated, and he cried, and he laughed. But now, he was gone. And Billy was the one who took that from him. Once a human, now reduced to a rotting corpse at the bottom of Lovers Lake, killed by his own son.

And, suddenly, it occurred to Billy that he was an orphan. His mother was dead, killed by her own boyfriend only two months after she escaped from Neil, leaving her son with him. And Neil was murdered by Billy himself, swimming with the fishes now.

He didn't have anyone anymore.

But, he thought, were his parents ever really parents to him? His mum had been, once. She taught him how to surf, and read him bedtime stories, and stroked his hair when he cried, but she had left. She had left him for another man, one who abused her just as much, if not worse, as Neil did. Billy called her every night, asking if she left because of Neil, or if it was because of him. Eventually, she had stopped picking up the phone. And Neil, absolutely livid that his wife had left him with a ten year old boy, took it out on him. He had been bad before, of course, but Billy’s mother was practically a shield. When she left, she left him vulnerable. And when she died, it got worse. Neil drank. He forgot about putting food in the cupboards, and got fired from his job. He beat Billy up and kicked Billy out of the house when Neil brought women home. He didn't even tell Billy that he was going to have a new step-sister until the marriage was official. His parents weren't parents to him, at least not after the age of ten.

_So why the fuck do I miss them so much_?

Suddenly, Billy looked down, realising Steve’s hand was joined with his own. “I have to go,” He said quietly, slowly moving his hand away. “The cops want me to take a statement. I actually… Came to return your clothes. Not to fucking freak out on you or anything. Sorry.”

“No, its okay,” Steve answered. “I’ve been through it before.”

Awkwardly, Billy looked away, not wanting to talk about the fact Steve had killed many people before.

“You– You can actually keep the sweater,” Steve turned and strode towards the plastic bag, picking it up and tossing it at him. “Your jackets aren't going to do anything. At least wear this.”

“It’s fucking hideous though,” Billy replied as he caught it. It felt nice to be mean – he felt like his old self again, the one that hadn't murdered anybody. “I wouldn't be caught dead wearing this.”

“Its pretty ugly,” Steve agreed. “But you make it look good. Brings out the blueness of your eyes.”

Billy felt a surge of warmth in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, spooky! Billy's getting hallucinations now. Call me crazy, but I love to write about a character slowly spiraling into insanity. Don't worry though, he'll get back on his feet.


	3. And Listening To Music

“You’re telling me...” Chief Jim Hopper said slowly. “...That the night your father went missing, you were ‘hanging out’ with Steve Harrington? The boy you beat half to death only a week or two ago? That Steve Harrington?”

“Is there any other Steve Harrington?” Billy snapped bitterly, slouching in his seat.

“You’d be surprised,” Hopper answered. “His grandfather, and his grandfather’s grandfather, they were both named Steve.”

“Oh.”

After a beat of silence, Hopper leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on a pile of paperwork that sat there. Billy avoided the man’s eyes – they seemed to be staring into his very soul. “Whats your relationship with your father?”

Billy wanted to tell him. He wanted to scream _“He hit me! He abused me! He tried to hurt me again so I slit his throat with a pocket knife and dumped his body in the lake!”_ Instead, he just scuffed his foot on the ground and crossed his arms. “Why does that matter? He’s missing, not _dead_.”

“Oh, I know,” Hopper seemed satisfied with Billy’s answer, sitting back in his chair. “But you need to keep your mind open to all the possibilities. Can you answer my question now?”

_I fucking hate cops._ “My relationship with him – it’s strained. He’s, uh, tough on me. But it doesn't fucking matter, okay? There ain’t shit you pigs can do shit about it. I’ll just wait until Max can move out, and then I’m gone. Its only a couple of more years. So don't go and try to act like a hero, alright? I don't need your goddamn pity.”

“Bad relationship with father,” Hopper murmured as he scribbled in a notebook. He looked up at Billy then, tilting his head to the side and twitching his moustache. “He hit you too many times? You have enough? You kill him? Is that it?”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_. “You think I killed my father? Is he even dead?” Billy made sure to use the right amount of panic in his voice. Once again, Hopper seemed satisfied with Billy’s answer. The man let out a humming sound, letting his notebook fall to the desk with a slapping sound.

“Alright,” He said. “He’s not dead, as far as we know. But a man like him, a lot of people know he’s tough on his family. It was a little trick,” He waved his hand distractedly. “A brain fuck. Sorry for that. Lets go over your story again though, alright?”

“Fine,” Billy grumbled.

“You and Harrington became friends because…?”

“Because I felt bad for fucking up his face and apologised.”

“Because you felt bad for fucking up his face. So you hang out with him a lot, you’re over at his house alone?”

“Yeah? Why is that relevant?”

“No reason. Just going over the story. You’re over at Harrington’s, you two smoke and drink and do whatever the fuck teenage boys do. The night your dad went missing, you’re with Steve Harrington at his house, drinking?”

“And listening to music,” Billy agreed, crossing his arms.

“The last time you saw your dad, which was yesterday at around eight-thirty pm, he was mad at you because while he was out with his friends you didn't mow the lawn. So he said you two needed to talk, tried to take you for a drive. You don't know where he was going to take you?”

Billy thought about the day beforehand. He had spent the day smoking weed and completing the list of chores his dad had given him. Unfortunately, he forgot to look at the back. When Neil had arrived home, he had been livid at the sight of the long grass, and had slapped Billy across the face before dragging him out to the car. Without thinking, Billy had grabbed his pocket knife while being dragged out. Neil got mad, tried to hit Billy, and got killed in return. “No,” Billy said. “I didn't know where he was going to take me. I didn't want to go with him.”

“So you got into your car. You drove over to Harrington’s. You stayed there a couple of hours, then went home at… What time, again?”

“Nearly two am.”

“You were drinking.”

“And listening to music,” Billy repeated, exasperated that Hopper kept forgetting that fact.

“Yeah, yeah. You got home, you didn't notice his car was gone?”

“No, I was really tired.”

“You were really tired.”

“Yes.”

“Then your step mother, Neil’s second wife, reported him missing because he didn't come home last night or turn up at work this morning. Where were you this morning?”

“Harrington’s,” Billy said. “I was… Asking him to call people. To find my dad.”

After a moment of silence, in which Hopper stared at Billy and he stared right back, the chief of police sighed and shook his head. “Alright. You can go. We’ll contact you and your family immediately if there’s any sign of your father. In the meantime, keep an eye out, okay? Last time someone went missing, it was...” Hopper seemed to be hesitating.

“Yeah, she was killed by a chemical spill and the government tried to cover it up. I read about that.”

“Yeah,” Hopper agreed, sounding distant. “Chemical spill. Goodbye, Hargrove.”

Billy left without saying goodbye, letting the door swing closed behind him. When he arrived home, Max was nowhere to be seen and Susan was surrounded by people. Karen was there as well. She gave Billy a suggestive look as he walked past, and he ignored her. Instead, he headed into his room and locked the door, resting his head against the wood for a moment.

Without Neil yelling at Billy to do chores, the house felt so quiet. Even though the lounge room was swarmed by a gaggle of middle aged women, all of them telling Susan about how it was “going to be okay,” Billy couldn't help but think about Neil’s loud voice. He wondered if Max ever flinched like he did when she heard the voice booming across the house, calling for his step-daughter and son. She probably jumped at the sudden loud noise, but her first thought wasn't _“Fuck, what did I do?”_.

For the rest of the day, Billy bustled around the house, doing chores that Neil (had he been alive) would have written down on a list for him to go through. Max’s list was usually half the size of Billy’s, but he usually ended up doing hers for her anyway, because he’d be the one to get beaten on if the house wasn't spotless. He heated up one of the casseroles that the women had brought over and served each lady a healthy serving. They cooed, calling him a sweet boy, while Susan stared up at him with teary eyes and whispered a _thank you_. He felt a pang of guilt whenever she even looked at him. He couldn't imagine how she was feeling… Billy at least had parts of Neil to hate. But Susan? She had been in _love_ with him. And her husband was _missing_ (dead).

When Maxine arrived home, her jeans ripped from a new fall on her skateboard, Billy shoved a bowl of spaghetti into her arms. He knew how much she hated the casseroles her friends parents made – she often complained to Susan about it whenever that was what they ate for dinner. Susan would fuss and tell her to eat it, but she would just cross her arms and refuse. Billy had watched her jealously, scowling at the fact she could get away with kicking a bitchy tantrum and he couldn't. But now, her mum’s husband was missing. He wasn't going to even _try_ to get her to eat the casserole. That would just lead to an argument, and Susan didn't need that kind of stress. So he made some spaghetti, since it was one of her favourite foods, and left before she could thank him.

Who knew being a murderer could make somebody so motivated to get shit done? Billy certainly didn't. But, by the end of the day, both the front yard and the backyard were mowed to perfection. He’d even taken the time to repaint Susan’s fucking dumb gardening shed a light shade of mint green. It looked much better compared to the peeling white paint they had before.

While Susan and Max retired to bed at around ten, Billy stayed up, cleaning the house as quietly as he could and doing homework. As comforting as the bed looked, he refused to allow himself to relax. He didn't know if he deserved that. Because he was a _killer_ , a _murderer_ , a goddamn _threat_ to everyone around him. How the fuck could he be trusted to even sleep in the same house as a grieving wife when he was the one who created that depression? How the fuck could he be trusted to live in the same town as a girl he used to abuse, who he now ignored most of the time because he felt so fucking guilty whenever he looked at her? How the fuck could he be trusted to even _exist_ in the same world as everyone else when he had taken another man’s life? His own goddamn _father_?!

It took all of Billy’s effort not to open Susan’s door and tell her what had happened. He stood outside of her bedroom for a few minutes, hand raised to knock, internal conflict battling a war inside of his head. Eventually, he walked away, back into his own bedroom, his mind full of Steve’s dark eyes as a way of distraction.

Billy was so fucking confused about how to feel. All of his emotions, all of his feelings, they were _killing_ him. On one hand, Neil was abusive, and he was going to hurt Billy again. On the other, Neil had been his dad, and as much as Billy liked to act disinterested and bored about everything, all he ever really craved was Neil’s love and affection. Billy killed him before he ever got to experience that.

It seemed now that Billy’s only escape or way to deal was Steve. Which was also fucking confusing, considering the fact that barely a month ago, Billy was taking all of his anger out on Steve for hanging out with his step-sister in a creepy house in the middle of the forest. Which, yeah, from Billy’s point of view at the time looked fucking _weird_ , so come on, he couldn't be blamed _too_ much. Maxine had explained to him a week later, when she finally decided to talk to him, that she had been hanging out with her friends when one of them went missing. So Steve was called to babysit while the parents went looking for the kid. It didn't make an eighteen year old boy hanging around a bunch of middle schoolers any less creepy, but… At least there was an explanation.

The clock beside his bed read two past five when Billy glanced over. With a yawn, he put his book down, glancing at the door.

His bedroom door opened, and Billy glanced over, blood running cold when he saw Neil standing there. The man was soaking wet, water dripping onto the floor in a slow, steady motion. _Drip. Drip. Drip._ Neil’s shirt was stained pink, his neck split open in a jagged cut. His mouth was hanging open to reveal filthy, yellow teeth, littered with little pieces of sand and algae. His hands, which were hanging limply at his sides, looked cut up and calloused, as if he had dragged himself back the whole way. When he spoke, Billy felt a chill running through his body. _“You...”_ Neil croaked. _“You killed me. You murderer. You killer. You fucking monster.”_

Billy squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears. “No,” He whispered. “I didn't mean to, dad, I swear! I didn't mean to!”

The room was silent. When Billy opened his eyes, he saw the bedroom door was closed and Neil was gone. Even the wet stain on the carpet caused by the water dripping off of Neil had dried up, like it was never there in the first place.

In fact, it probably hadn't been.

Billy needed to talk to Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	4. The Silence

Billy sat in his car for ten minutes before he gathered the confidence to shut off the engine and step out into the open. The howling wind of autumn felt piercing against Billy’s uncovered arms, for he had forgotten to grab a jacket on the way out. He was ashamed to say he practically ran towards Steve’s double doors, hugging his arms around himself, his swearing lost in the wind. The doorbell rang throughout the house, followed by the hallway light being switched on and Steve’s voice. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

If Billy hadn't been so frazzled he would have laughed until he couldn't breathe. Instead, he stood shivering on the doorstep, freezing his goddamn balls off, waiting for his arch-nemesis who also happened to bury bodies for fun to open the door.

“Hargrove?” Steve asked, confused. Billy paused for a moment to study Steve’s bed hair. It was almost fascinating to see King Steve without his usual perfectly styled quiff. The boy’s hair was all over the place, sticking up so much it looked like he had been electrocuted. Sometimes, Billy wished he had a goddamn camera.

“Sup,” Billy said, all chill, like he hadn't just freaked the fuck out because he thought he saw his father returning from the dead. “I was driving past. Wanted booze. Care to share, Harrington?”

“You’re not touching my alcohol,” Steve replied, stepping aside to let Billy inside. The blonde basked in the warmth of Steve’s house, closing his eyes for a moment to let the heat wash over his body, a step up from the freezing cold of outside. “Plus, its literally five in the morning. Bit early to be drinking. Come on, coffee’s ready.”

Billy didn't complain as he followed Steve through the house, passing several expensive looking vases and pictures before they reached the extravagant kitchen. On the bench sat a coffee pot, the brown liquid swishing around inside it as Steve picked it up and poured a large portion into a plain white mug that was already out. He passed the coffee to Billy, who took a long sip. _Coffee, glorious goddamn coffee_. Steve poured himself his own mug and jerked his head in the direction of a doorway. Once again, Billy followed the boy, scowling at everything that looked expensive and wishing he could smash it.

The two boys made themselves comfortable in the lounge room, Steve curled up with his legs tucked underneath him on a brown leather armchair and Billy flopped on a posh white sofa, his feet kicked up on the coffee table, causing the dirt to shake off his boots onto the little thing. Billy didn't have a coffee table at his house. He decided the only use the damn thing had was being a footrest.

After a long while of silence, in which they both drank their coffees, Steve finally decided to speak. “Why are you really here?”

Billy Hargrove was _not_ the type of person to tell the truth about a personal issue. So instead, he said, “Can’t a guy get some company around these parts? Why do you think? I was bored, amigo.”

Steve let out a little huff of air as a representation of a laugh and took another sip of his coffee. “We both know that’s not true. You hate me. I’ll ask again. Why are you really here? We’re rivals, remember?”

Oh, Billy remembered. Billy remembered very fucking well. But Steve Harrington, his worst enemy, he was the only one who was there for Billy when he needed somebody most. He was the only one Billy could talk to about what happened, about the guilt he was feeling. Billy felt some sort of strange attraction to the pretty boy, one he hadn't felt in a long while. _So why_ , he questioned, _am I here? Maybe its just to see you_.

He was quiet for a very long time, staring down at the swirling black liquid in the bottom of his mug. It felt strange, to be quiet. Billy had spent his entire life trying to cover up the silence with noise, whether it be music, or yelling, or the loud cheering of the teenagers gathered around the keg stand. But now, his hands wrapped around a large white mug, the smell of coffee wafting pleasantly into his face, and Steve’s question unanswered – being ignored seemed to annoy Steve, and Billy loved doing that – Billy wanted nothing more than silence. He wanted the whispering of Neil’s voice to cease to exist, he wanted all the loud, angry music to quieten down for a second. He just needed a moment to think.

So Steve’s question hung heavy in the air for a few minutes before it finally evaporated, leaving nothing but the peaceful silence and the sipping of coffee.

After ages of peaceful silence, Steve got up, putting his coffee mug down on the table beside Billy’s feet. “Are you cold?” Steve asked. “My house is kind of cold. Do you want me to light the fire?”

Billy hadn't been near a fireplace since he had lived with his mother. Her friends had a fireplace in a house near a lake. It was the first time he had seen such a large body of water that wasn't the ocean, so naturally, he had been curious to see what swimming in it felt like. It had been winter at the time, so Billy had returned back at the house absolutely freezing, with purple lips and shaking hands. He had been whisked inside, sat down in front of the fireplace and wrapped in a dozen blankets. His mum cuddled him and sung sweet songs by Elvis, while her friends (a lesbian couple) made him hot coco and put on a movie. But besides that, Billy hadn't been near an actual, real live, lit fireplace for years.

Still, Billy didn't answer. Steve sighed, took away Billy’s coffee, ignored Billy’s grunt of annoyance, and shuffled closer. “Alright, come on, talk to me,” He said. “Why are you here?”

“I don't wanna talk,” Billy murmured. “You… You talk. Just talk about some random shit or whatever, man. Just distract me.” _I think if I speak too much, or say the wrong word, I’m going to break down crying_.

“Okay then,” Steve sat back, sounding both confused and understanding at the same time. “Uh… Just talk about anything?”

“Anything. Just bitch about something, like the princess you are.” _Fuck, it was nice to be mean again_.

Steve chuckled, reaching out to rub Billy’s leg. “Alright, alright. Don’t call me that, dickhead. Uh...” He was silent for a moment before he began to talk. Billy sighed and closed his eyes.

<><><><>

When Billy woke up, Steve was gone, but he had a blanket tucked tightly around him. The only source of light in the room was the crackling fire in the hearth, its heat filling the room with a comfortable warmth. When Billy glanced outside, he could see wisps of white falling past the window and gathering on the ground below it. _Is that snow_? Billy had never seen snow. It didn't often get cold in Cali, and that was the way he liked it.

He got up, letting out a tired groan as he stretched his arms into the air. When he reached the window, he was both shocked and curious to find out it was covered in ice. His hand went instantly numb from the cold when he touched it, causing him to jump back and hiss in pain. “Fucking hate Hawkins,” Billy muttered, turning to walk back to the warmth of the fireplace. He stood next to it, holding his hands over the flame, scowling.

“Yeah, I wouldn't touch the window if I were you,” A voice said behind him, causing him to jump. He turned around to glare at Steve, who continued to speak. “My house is really hard to warm up during the wintertime, so I usually just pile on a bunch of clothes and have really hot showers. But something told me you wouldn't be happy wearing a bunch of my sweaters, so uh,” He gestured towards the fireplace. “I’m trying to heat the place up a little. Just for you.”

And honestly, Billy had no clue how to respond to that. How _could_ you respond to that? So he went to his default setting, which was, “Fuck you Harrington.”

Steve didn't even look surprised at Billy’s reply.

All too soon, there was a knock on the door. Steve grinned like a dork at Billy and walked towards it, pulling both doors open to reveal a group of children, one of which being Max. She was wrapped in a dark blue jacket that was too big for her, obviously belonging to Lucas, who happened to be shivering. “Hi,” Dustin said, grinning up at Steve. “It started to snow when we were biking past. Can we stay here until it stops?”

Steve stepped aside to let them in. They started to walk in, but halted the moment they saw Billy, who was still standing by the fireplace, warming his hands. He glared at them, tempted to even let out a snarl, when Max stepped forward and punched him in the arm. “The fuck, Billy?” She grumbled. “What are you doing here? You were gone this morning. Mum’s worried.”

“Jesus Christ, Maxine,” He replied, ruffling her hair. “Stop being such a nosy little bitch and warm up.”

She shoved him aside and stood by the fire. In the background, Steve could be heard discussing with the rest of the nerds why Billy was at his house. After a few minutes of hushed whispers, they seemed to calm down, making themselves comfortable on the couches surrounding the fireplace. Only Lucas continued to stand, his fists clenched at his sides. Billy scowled at the boy, shooting him a _What?_ Look, to which Lucas only let out a little huff.

“Its too cold,” Max said quietly to Billy. He grunted in agreement.

They had never seen snow before, meaning they had never experienced weather so freezing. While the rest of the kids seemed to be handling it fine, Billy and Max continued to crowd close to the fireplace, shivering. One of the kids, one with pale skin, dark hair, and a pouty looking face, let out a little chuckle that sounded something like “ _Californians_.” Billy really did snarl that time. Max said, “Shut the fuck up, Mike. No one asked you!”

When they began to feel a little warmer, Max and Billy turned away from the fireplace and began to ignore each other. Billy grabbed his leather jacket, even zipping it up, and started to walk towards the door. Steve grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Wait, wait, where are you going?”

“Susan’s place,” Billy said slowly, just in case Steve really was that dumb.

Steve shook his head. “Your car can’t handle this weather. Just stay here until the snow settles a little, okay?”

Billy huffed, but sat down, nudging over Dustin, who let out a squeak of terror and scrambled away like he’d been burned. _Honestly,_ Billy thought. _You’d think I killed their puppy or something. I didn't even punch the kid_.

“So, any news on your step-dad?” A shy, little kid with a bowl cut asked Max. Billy was pulled from his wave of thoughts into a tsunami of memories, all of them including blood.

_A knife clutched in his hands, a cry of pain._

“No,” Max answered. “The police think he skipped town. I think so too.”

_A hand around his ankle, gripping tightly._

“Mum’s really sad though.”

_Blood splattered all over him, covering the front of his shirt and his shaking, murderous hands._

“Billy?” A voice said, and he looked up to see Max staring at him. Behind her, Steve was practically telling him it was going to be okay with his deep brown eyes. He returned his gaze to Max.

“What?” He asked, his voice cracking embarrassingly as he did so. She shot him a weird look, but turned away.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this, then,” She said. “It doesn't matter, anyway.”

“I’m going out for a cigarette,” Billy said quietly, standing up so fast he felt dizzy. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and stomped towards the backdoor, pulling it open and letting a gush of cold wind inside. He shivered, but stuck true to his word and went outside, closing the door behind him. He sat just out of vision, underneath the overhang. It was only once he had sat down on the freezing concrete and gotten comfortable that he realised he didn't have any cigarettes on him.

That was okay. He just sat there for a while, happily freezing as he listened to the others thump around in the house. _Maybe I should just dive into the pool and drown myself. I am a killer, after all._ A tear dripped down his face, and for a brief moment he wondered if it would freeze. The moment was ruined when the sliding door opened and Steve stepped out, wrapped tightly in a blanket. “Dude,” He said. “Get your ass in here! You can smoke inside, man, you’re gonna freeze to death out here.”

_That's what I want. I just want to die._ Billy stood up and followed Steve inside, shaking from the cold. Max jumped up when she saw him. “Dickhead!” She snapped.

“F-fuck you M-Maxine,” Billy stuttered. Steve directed him towards the fire, which Billy was beginning to become very familiar with. He blew hot air on his hands, then held them over the flickering flame, basking in the warmth. Once he began to warm up, he turned to glare at the others. “Come on, it was only, like, ten minutes,” He grumbled. “You guys are acting like I nearly died.”

“We were worried!” Max shouted.

“Oh yeah?” Billy said in a slow, mocking voice before changing to a sarcastic pout. “Why’d it take you so long then? I could frozen to death, and then you’d be all sad, hm?”

“Fuck you!” Max replied, clearly too frustrated to even think up a good reply. She pushed past him and stomped away to the kitchen, the rest of the kids following her. Billy snickered, adoring the frustration he could cause just by speaking.

“Not cool, man,” Steve said from his spot on the couch. “She actually was worried. We didn't know where you went.”

“I was just out back. Wanted a smoke.”

“I’ve got a big house, alright? And you were hiding. You cant blame us.”

“Maybe I didn't want you to find me,” Billy said. “Maybe I just wanted to… To stay out there. And freeze.”

“Are you suicidal?” Steve asked after a beat of awkward silence.

“No...” Billy said. “Maybe. It’d just be easier to not exist, alright? Stop fucking asking questions. Whether I die or not is my business, not yours.”

There was a noise behind him and he turned to see Maxine standing at the doorway of the lounge, her blue eyes filled with concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is xxlost-in-starsxx if you wanted to give me a follow! I reblog dumb shit.


	5. How Would You Ever Survive Without Me?

The drive back home was close to silent, the only sound being Max fidgeting with the wheels of the skateboard on her lap. She looked up at him occasionally, which he caught out of the corner of his eye, her face full of pity and her eyes wide. When that happened, he would turn and shoot a quick glare at her, which would cause her to look away. That hadn't happen for a while, not since the incident with the nail bat, which was nearly three weeks beforehand. Time had been flying since then, and Billy had been so stressed out he lost track of time. He kept his head down, ignored Max, tried to do what his father said, and counted down the months until he could go back to California.

Hawkins, Indiana, was the worst thing that ever happened to Billy.

They arrived at Cherry Road, number 6280, and Billy pulled over. He cut the engine, expecting Max to get out and slam the door like she usually did. Instead, she continued to fidget with her skateboard, looking up at Billy as she did so.

Billy said, “ _What_ , Maxine?”

She replied, “You can tell me if you’re suicidal.”

“For fucks sake!” Billy groaned. “I’m not, Max, and even if I fucking was, its none of your business! Can you stop acting like you’re actually my sister, _please_?”

She huffed and looked away, out at the window. “Alright,” She muttered. “I’m sorry for the bat incident,” Her voice began to grow louder as she continued to speak. “But you were going to beat up my boyfriend, and you _did_ beat up my friend! You cant blame me when you’ve done jack shit apart from bully and torment me every fucking chance you get! You nearly _killed_ someone!”

_Nearly_ , Billy thought. _I wish._

“Look, I know I fucked up, okay?!” Billy shouted. “I fucked up! I’m a fuck up! And I don't need you here throwing a fucking tantrum and reminding me! I’m _sorry_ for “bullying” you, but you… You’re so fucking privileged. You fucked up my life. You fucked up everything because you fucking ratted me out. All you have to do is blink your big blue eyes up at Susan and she gets you _anything_! You have _never_ been beaten up by your own dad, you’ve _never_ had to sacrifice anything because you’re a privileged little _bitch_ who doesn't know jack about the real world!”

“Oh, I know a lot about this world, and damn lot more about other worlds too!”

“ _No you don’t_!” Billy roared, slamming his hand down on the dashboard of the car. She flinched, then let out a sigh.

“Okay, lets stop fighting,” She said quietly. Billy, who was panting from the outburst he had had, suspiciously narrowed his eyes as she continued to speak. “We’ve had a truce for like, a week. We shouldn’t fight. I’m just mad because I’m on my period--”

“ _Ew_ , Max--”

“--And you’re just mad because your dad skipped town.”

Suddenly, Billy couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to scream, to tell the entire world. _I’m a killer! I murdered my dad!_ He wanted to punch things and cry. Instead of doing that, he quietly said, “He hasn't skipped town, and he’s not missing. He’s dead. I killed him.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Billy got out of the car, slamming the door closed and walking up the driveway towards the house. Maxine followed him, closing her own car door. She grabbed Billy’s sleeve and whisper-shouted, “What the _fuck_ do you mean he’s _dead_?”

“We’ll talk about this inside,” Billy repeated before grabbing her arm and dragging her through the front door.

Susan was sitting at the kitchen table, as usual, drying her eyes. She glanced up when she heard Billy and Maxine enter, but didn't make any attempt to speak with them like she usually did. She just looked back down at the table and continued to dab at her eyes with tissues. Max let out a little sigh and pulled her arm away from Billy, walking over towards her mother. “Mum,” She said, touching her arm. “Its okay. He was a piece of shit anyway.”

Susan burst into tears and the step-siblings sighed in unison.

After Billy had turned on the heater and Max had patted her head and told her it was going to be okay, they retired to Billy’s bedroom. He turned on his cassette player and Iron Maiden began to blare out of the speakers. Max had her arms crossed when he turned to look at her. “What?” He said, smirking.

She rolled her eyes and turned the music down, only a little. “You killed Neil?” She asked in disbelief. Billy looked away, deciding to focus on one of the posters he kept up on the wall.

“It was an accident,” The blonde said, so quietly it almost came out as a whisper. “I didn't mean to.”

Except, that wasn't true, was it? He had chased him, grabbed him, deliberately slit his throat. He hadn't cried, nor had he attempted to help the man as he lied, bleeding out on the ground. He had just watched, in shock, as Neil died before his very eyes. Because Billy was a killer, a murderer, a fucking psychopath. He deserved death, more than Neil had, more than his mother, more than the boy back in California with brown eyes even darker than Steve’s. He deserved death. And he knew he did.

“Holy shit,” Max whispered, dropping onto the bed.

Billy turned the music up to its fullest volume and sat down next to her, shuffling back until he had his back against the wall.

“Holy shit, you killed him,” Max said, and Billy couldn't help it. He started to cry.

And Max, his little bitch of a step-sister? She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and let him.

Later that evening, Billy and Max found themselves sitting on the couch, watching Knight Rider, eating strawberry pop-tarts. Susan was curled up on the armchair, silently sipping chicken-noodle soup from a blue mug, the spoon abandoned on the coffee table. She was dressed in tracksuit pants, a dark blue dressing gown, and one of Neil’s old suit jackets, which was so unlike her usually dresses that Billy found himself actually worrying about the woman. He had never particularly liked her – she stood back and watched as Billy got beat up, the fucking bitch – but with her red eyes and baggy outfit, she looked so _pathetic_ Billy couldn't help but pity her.

“Uh, the Snowball is next week,” Max told her mother, who looked at her blankly. “And I was thinking – if you wanted – you could do my hair for the night. I promise I wont squirm too much.”

Billy knew what Max was doing. Trying to cheer her mother up, give her an event to look forward to. He noticed she did that as a way of coping, like whenever Susan made her go to church on Christmas and Billy could hear her muttering about the arcade after, or quietly reminding herself that she could have ice cream afterwards when she did her homework in her bedroom. He supposed it was a good way of coping – better than Billy’s, at least. He punched things and smoked and drank and did drugs. _That_ was his coping mechanism.

“I’ll wear the sweater Grandma made me,” Max said. “The itchy one.”

“The one with the yellow cuffs?” Susan asked hopefully.

Billy could see Max’s brain ticking. She obviously hadn't meant that one, she probably wanted to wear the green one with the lightning bolt. But it was the first time since Neil had ‘disappeared’ that she had expressed any other emotion than sadness, so predictably, Max said yes with a sigh. “Yeah. That one.”

Susan sat back in her chair. “You’ll look very pretty,” She said quietly. “I wish you would wear a dress, though--”

Even Max wouldn't go that far to please her mum. “Too late. Already decided on the sweater. Anyway, Mum. You look tired. Maybe you should get some rest?”

The redheaded woman nodded, standing up. “Yes,” She agreed distantly. “I’ll go get some rest. Night, sweetie,” She planted a kiss and Max’s head, waved at Billy, who tipped his head back at her, then walked down the hallway with the sash of her dressing gown dragging behind her. The moment the master bedroom door closed, Max turned to Billy, her eyes wild.

“Get up, lets go.”

“Rather presumptuous of you to assume I’m going anywhere with you, shit bird,” Billy murmured, his eyes still on the TV, using one hand to prop his head up. Max pulled the hand out from underneath him and his head snapped down, causing him to groan.

“ _Christ_ , Maxine! Do that again and I swear, I’m shaving your fucking eyebrows when you sleep.”

“Yeah? Do that and I’m cutting off your ridiculous hair,” Max replied, eyeing Billy’s blonde locks greedily. He tucked a curl behind his ear, glaring at her.

“You wouldn't.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Try me.”

Billy sighed and stood up, stretching his arms up into the air. “Fine, you fucking bitch. Where do you want to go?”

He almost expected her to say the arcade, or maybe even Lucas’ house. She did have dirt on him, after all, and it wasn't unlike her to rat Billy out, no matter how bad the consequences for him were. Instead, she grabbed his car keys and tossed them at him, saying “Steve Harrington’s house.”

The blonde sank back into the couch, returning his gaze to his TV show. “Uh, yeah, let me think about that for a second. _Fuck no_. I’ve already been to his house and put up with his _bullshit_ today. Yours too, shit bird. Sit back down.”

Maxine remained standing, her pale, freckly arms crossing over her chest, her mouth forming a pout. “You and him are practically _friends_ now. You buried--” She lowered her voice as Billy glared at her. “You buried a body together, for fucks sake.”

“Language,” Billy reminded, watching as the car on Knight Rider created a cloud of dirt as it drove. “Stop swearing, you little shit, you’re like, twelve.”

“ _Thirteen_ , you dickhead! And I’m fourteen in like, three months, so fuck you.”

“Sorry, I didn't hear you, I don't listen to twelve year old's.”

Max let out a shriek of anger, grabbing a picture frame of Susan and Neil’s wedding off the mantelpiece and throwing it as hard as she could at Billy. He ducked, letting the frame fall onto the couch, and then onto the floor, where it lied face down. The blonde jumped up and hit Max with a red pillow, catching her directly in the back of the head. She turned, her hair fluffed up into a hideous style, and kicked Billy in the knee as hard as she could. “Fuck you!” She screamed. “You piece of _shit_!”

The master bedroom door opened. Susan glared at them murderously, taking in the scene. Billy was clutching his knee and hitting Max with a pillow – Max was shouting curses and attempting to kick her step-brother in the balls. “Stop!” Susan ordered. The two went still immediately, Billy’s first thought being _Shit, she’s gonna tell my dad_. “Whats going on?” Susan asked, her eyes once again growing teary. “You two were getting along so well before! I don't… I cant handle this right now. Both of you, out. Go and get ice cream or something. Just _leave_ ,” She fumbled for her purse, found a twenty dollar note, and threw it at them. It fluttered to the floor, landing at Billy’s feet.

“Sorry, mum,” Max said quietly, fiddling with the sleeve of her yellow hoodie.

“Whatever,” Billy hissed, scooping up the note and his keys in one move. He turned, grabbed his boots and jacket, and stomped out towards his car. Max followed him.

Once she was in the camaro, her arms crossed and her gaze faced towards the window, Billy turned towards her. “Now listen here, Maxine,” He said, then corrected himself. “Max. I’m dropping you off at Steve’s. You can hang out with your nerdy little friends, whatever. Even that shit, Sinclair. _I’m_ going out to a pub. So you’re staying the night with one of them.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Max replied, almost timidly.

And shit, Billy did _not_ expect that answer. He was prepared for a _whatever_ , or a _fine, fuck off_. But Max turned towards him, her blue eyes wild and teary. “I’m not letting you _kill yourself_ ,” She spat. “You and I are doing what mum said. We’ll go and get ice cream, and then we’ll go home, and you’ll be perfectly fine and I wont have to attend a fucking funeral. Okay?”

Billy huffed. “Way too cold for ice cream,” He replied, annoyingly touched by Max’s dumb little speech. “And for the last time, I’m _not_ going to kill myself.”

Max swallowed.

He leaned over, ruffled her bright red hair, and said, “How would you ever survive without me?”

The girl smiled, pushing Billy’s hand away. “Fine. So what are we gonna eat?”

“Ah,” Billy said. “Come on, I know a place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Steve in this chapter, but I did include some good ol sibling rivalry. Love em!


	6. Where Did He Even Get A Trolley?

The snow was falling heavily by the time Billy and Max left a tiny, all night diner on the main street of Hawkins. Both of them were hit by an icy blast, followed by hundreds of little flakes falling into their hair and eyelashes. Billy’s car, parked two streets away because they couldn't find a spot, was too far to walk, so they slipped into the closest open store they could find. Billy looked around, shaking snow from his head. The store seemed to stock everything, from magnets and ridiculous decorations, to tools and phones. Sitting at the cash register was a woman with frizzy brown hair, waving enthusiastically at Max. “Hi Max!” She grinned when the redhead noticed her.

“Hi, Mrs Byers!” Maxine replied, smiling up at her. “I didn't know you worked here!”

“Ah, worked in this shit hole for a while now,” Mrs Byers gave the top of the counter an affectionate little pat, then slipped past the bench and walked towards the two of them. “It is close to our closing time, though. How are you getting home?”

“Driving,” Billy said before Max could. The woman looked up, as if she had just noticed Billy was there. Her eyes were dark, full of haunted, sad memories. She hid it quickly with a smile, though, and thrust her hand at Billy.

“Hey! I’m Joyce Byers. Are you Billy Hargrove?”

Billy shifted uncomfortably on his feet, feeling small even though she was way shorter than him. He grabbed her hand, gave it a small shake, then tried to pull away. “Yeah, the one and only,” He replied. She held on tight, and leaned in.

“Listen, Billy,” She said, her voice too soft for Max to hear. “I know what you did to Lucas, and to Steve. But you know what else I know?”

_Oh shit. She knows about Neil, she knows I killed him, she knows, she knows, she--_

“I know you’re just a kid. I’ve met your dad. He reminds me a lot of an ex partner of mine, a man called Lonnie. Ask around, everyone knew him. He’s a bad man. And people like him? They push their opinions onto their children, make them believe things that they don't want to. Things about gay people, or darker skin colours. So for now? I’m going to ignore what you did to the two of them. And just treat you like you are – a kid.”

Joyce turned away, smiling largely at Max. “Its time for us to close, honey. If I were you two, I’d make a run for it now. But in the future, buy some snow jackets, okay?” She eyed Max and Billy’s sneakers. “And some good shoes. You two are gonna get frostbite, I swear.”

“Thanks, Mrs Byers!” Max grinned. “We will! See you later!”

“And a scarf!” The woman shouted after them. “And gloves! Buy gloves!”

Billy and Max left the store, huddled as close as possible to the buildings with their jackets hugged tightly around themselves.

The next day, Billy bought Max a white snow jacket, a pair of boots, a yellow scarf and thick black gloves. He refused to admit they were from him.

<><><><>

Two weeks passed, and in that time Lovers Lake froze over. The water was covered by a thin layer of ice, not enough to skate on but enough to cover Neil’s car from someone flying overhead, because it was much harder to see through the ice than it was for the light blue water it usually had in the summer.

Billy returned to school. He and Steve ignored each other between classes, but Billy would still often go over to his house, whether it be just to sleep or for Steve’s alcohol selection. They never talked, just sat in awkward silence. Girls flocked to Billy, sometimes mentioning his father, saying how sorry they were that he left, but usually shut up when Billy dragged them into a broom closet and touched them in the right ways until they were screaming his name. Then he would leave, bored and waiting for the next person to approach him.

At three weeks, he quit basketball and spent most of his time in the library, working on his grades. He was smart, and he knew he was smart, but basketball took up too much of his time that he could have devoted to studying. His grades had dropped from straight A’s to B+’s, so he worked them back up to the comfortable level he had always had.

He was still exhausted, all the time. No matter how much he laughed, how much he smiled, his brain was constantly filled with memories of what he did to Neil, the blood on his hands.

Four weeks. Thanksgiving came and went, and Billy spent most of the holidays asleep, or pretending to be asleep. He didn't get up for food. Most of the time, he filled up on stolen fruit and raw vegetables at three in the morning, stuffing himself full. He didn't go to Steve’s – he felt like he’d overstayed his welcome. The two ignored each other. Max broke up with Lucas and got back together with him two days later. She proceeded to break up with him once more, then took him back when he sang out of tune by her window, keeping Billy awake. He put a pillow over his own head and attempted to suffocate himself.

Five weeks had passed before Billy had another hallucination of Neil. He ran all the way to Steve’s house at midnight, Neil’s voice echoing inside his head. Once he arrived at Steve’s, he picked the lock and raided the boy’s alcohol cabinet. Steve found him passed out on the kitchen floor, so he tucked a blanket around him and shoved a pillow under his head. Billy made sure to leave before the morning.

With Christmas quickly approaching, Billy wrapped himself up in two thick jackets and jammed a black beanie over his head. He drove two towns over to find a mall, and went shopping for Christmas presents. He bought Susan a pair of white high heels with little red bows on top, and found a shirt with rainbow sleeves for Max. He figured it was too cold to wear it, but when summer came, she would probably enjoy it.

Christmas day had always been horrible for Billy. Neil hit him if he didn't spend enough money on the girls, and would hit him if he did. Then, he would proceed to buy Billy some ridiculous pair of shoes Billy would never wear, or nothing at all. It was Billy’s first Christmas without Neil. He vaguely wondered if it would be better.

“Hey!” A voice said in his ear, causing Billy to jump and drop Susan’s heels. They clattered to the floor, and he grabbed them before turning around to glare at Steve.

“What are you doing here?” He asked blankly, crossing his arms, the shoes and shirt hanging loosely from his arms.

Steve grinned. “Christmas shopping,” He answered, gesturing to the trolley beside them, which was full to the brim with clothes, chocolates, stupid little toys and other gifts Billy assumed were for the gaggle of nerd the teen hung out with him. Where did he even _get_ a trolley? Billy hadn't seen any. Briefly, he felt embarrassed he was buying so little, but pushed the nagging feeling away.

“Uh huh,” Billy replied with raised eyebrows.

Steve looked down. “Hey, nice outfit,” He said, and Billy almost smiled before he realised Steve was gesturing to the women’s clothing he was holding. “I didn't think you would be the type to wear heels, but hey, you do you, bro.”

Billy couldn't help it. He let out a little laugh, nudging Steve with his elbow. “Oh my god, shut up. Its for Susan and Max. For Christmas. Not all of us can afford to buy, like, a thousand dollars worth of presents.”

Steve let out an offended scoff. “It is _not_ a thousand dollars worth of presents. Maybe like, three hundred, tops.”

“You spoiled bitch, Harrington.”

“Tch,” Steve rolled his eyes and turned to the lady at the register, who had been waiting patiently for the boys to finish talking, and handed her two scented candles for her to scan. He collected the items, paid with a sleek credit card, and tossed them into the trolley amongst all the other stuff. “You rarely come over anymore,” He said, looking back at Billy. “Like, before a couple of days ago when you were drunk, you went _three weeks_ without talking to me. You should start coming over again, my parents wont be back until Christmas Eve.”

“We’re not friends, Harrington,” Billy reminded, paying for his own items and wincing at the hefty price tag of the shoes. After receiving his change, he tucked the coins into his pocket (Max could use them at the arcade) and started to walk away. Steve followed, wheeling the trolley behind as quickly as he could.

The older boy caught up to Billy in the parking lot, where he was sitting in his car and having a quick smoke before driving back to Hawkins. Steve sat down in the passenger seat and grabbed Billy’s cigarette, taking a long drag. His bags of presents were gone, probably in Steve’s own car. Where he should have been, not sitting beside Billy and taking his smokes. “What the fuck, Harrington?” Billy grumbled, putting another cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. “You’re a goddamn stalker.”

“Your car isn't hard to find,” Steve stated, blowing smoke out of the window. “Why are you avoiding me, William?”

Billy turned, ready to tell Steve _don't call me that_ and _fuck off_ , but he was momentarily stumped when Steve’s brown eyes met his. They seemed even duller than usual, and for the first time in a while, Billy actually _stopped_ to study the guys face. He looked exhausted. Even when he was teasing the other boy, a pastime that both of them enjoyed thoroughly, his eyes didn't sparkle. They just stared, absolutely empty, drilling into Billy’s eyes with about as much emotions as a fucking robot. Steve’s lips twitched slightly, tilting upwards into a tired smile. “What?”

“You okay?” Billy asked in a slow tone, wary of the look – or lack thereof – in Steve’s dark eyes. “You look… Sad.”

Except, that was a lie. Steve didn't look sad, he didn't look _anything_. Just fucking _tired_.

“Sad?” Steve answered. “Nah, just didn't get any sleep last night. Come over, seriously. If not tonight, then… Tomorrow! Like I said, my house is empty until Christmas Eve,” The boy raised his hand, brushing some of his light brown hair out of his face, looking bitter. “Then they’ll probably throw some fucking Christmas party and everyone’s going to be there asking why me and Nancy broke up and… Anyway! Come over. We should hang out.”

“Fine,” Billy sighed. “But only because it’ll get you off my back. For fucks sake. Can you get out of my car now, please? I never thought I’d say this, but I’d actually _like_ to get back to Hawkins.”

“Mm, same,” The other boy agreed, then clapped Billy on the shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow then? Eleven?”

“Yeah, yeah, tomorrow.”

Billy waited until Steve was in his car before driving off, Steve disappearing in the rear view mirror. He took a long drag of his cigarette and flicked the filter out the window, his mind buzzing.

When he arrived home, tired and ready to fall asleep, he discovered Max sitting on the couch, looking grim. “Mum’s lost it,” She said when Billy closed the door behind him, keys jangling. His brow furrowed and she continued. “She keeps insisted Neil wouldn't have left without saying goodbye, that he must have been murdered or something. Called all her friends, even called the cops a couple of times to “report a murder”. She’s asleep now, Hopper managed to calm her down. But. Still. Just tread lightly, okay?”

He hugged his arms around himself, nodding. “Okay.”

Max got up, nodded back at him, and started to walk back to her bedroom. She was a wise kid, despite the fact she was wearing Wonder Woman pyjamas. “Hey,” Billy called softly. She stopped, her hand on the doorknob.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” He said. “For… For all this shit. For accepting what I did. For forgiving me.”

“Eh,” Max shrugged. “Got bigger secrets to keep.”

And if that wasn't fucking weird, because didn't Steve Harrington say the exact same thing, all those weeks ago?


	7. Dead Or Not, I Still Have Power Over You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pancakes, yall. Also, I think I might keep posting up until chapter eight and then call it a day. I've gotta fucking sleep.

Billy felt a warm, hazy feeling when he awoke. The clock on his bedside table read 3:15. He sighed, rolling over to stare at the wall, wondering why he was awake so early. There was movement behind him and he startled, sitting up and coming face to face with the blue lips and furious eyes of Neil Hargrove. “Dad?” Billy croaked, eyes wide. “What--”

In a flash, Neil was grabbing Billy by the collar of his black shirt and dragging him up, out of bed. His fingers were stiff, and cold, nearly as cold as the sting of the air from the open window, which was blowing in snow. Was that how his father had gotten in? It didn't matter anyway, Billy was startled out of his thoughts when he was slammed against the cupboard, his back digging into the handle. He grunted, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Neil absolutely reeked. He smelt like the dead cat Billy had once had to carry back to his neighbours house, mixed with the stench of sewage and urine. Did dead people usually smell this bad? Probably.

“You’re not real,” Billy whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re a hallucination. Or-- Or a dream. Either way, you’re not real, you’re just-- You’re _dead_.”

“Dead or not, I still have power over you,” Neil growled, his lips grazing Billy’s ear. The boy cringed, turning his head away. Neil grabbed his cheeks and gripped them hard until he opened his eyes. “Now listen here, William,” The man said, almost calmly. “You need to remember what we talked about.”

“We’ve talked about a lot of things,” Billy spat, then yelped as Neil pulled him back and slammed him against the cupboard again.

“ _Respect_ ,” Neil hissed. “ _And responsibility_. Wanna repeat that?”

“Respect and responsibility, sir,” The boy replied stiffly, his eyes filled with tears he refused to let fall, his chin tilted upwards to stare into Neil’s piercing eyes.

“Good,” The man seemed almost satisfied. He turned, letting go of Billy, and started to walk towards the open window. For a moment, Billy thought he was going to leave, but instead, he slammed it shut, then looked back at Billy. “You were always a disappointment, Billy,” Neil said, sounding like he was struck with wonder. “I don't know what went wrong with you.”

“Maybe it was the abuse,” Billy snarled, sliding down to the floor and wrapping his arms around his knees. “Or-- Or the neglect. Or the fact you liked M-Max better than me! Maybe it was the girlfriends you brought in and made me leave so you could _fuck them_. Maybe it was how I used to watch you beat up mum! And I had to _sit_ there, and watch you _beat_ her, and I could do _jack shit_! Why did I turn out such a fucking piece of shit? _Because I’m your son, and it fucking runs in the family_.”

Neil laughed. He stood there, watching Billy’s angry face, and _laughed_. “Fuck, you’re pathetic,” He scoffed. “I raised a fucking pansy.”

“I’m _not_ \--”

“A queer.”

“ _Stop_ \--”

“A fucking _faggot_!” Neil roared, spit flying everywhere. Billy couldn't help it. He let some tears fall and started to shout back.

“ _So what_?” He screamed. “I like boys! You raised a fag, dad, and guess what? _I’m fucking proud of it_. Mm, boys, fucking love em, love their lips, and their hair, and their skin against mine, and his fucking brown puppy dog eyes, and his body, _goddamn_ , his body! I love boys, I love him, and yeah, he’s never going to love me back because he has Nancy, or-- or Heather, or Tina, or Tammy, or all of those other bitches, but I can’t stop loving him and hating him, and _fuck_ , dad, you don't control my fucking life! You’re dead! _Dead_! So piss off!”

Neil grinned, raised his steel-toed boots, and aimed to kick Billy in the jaw. He covered his face, crying for help, but before the boot could connect with his face, he opened his eyes and--

And Billy woke up to the sun shining through the curtains onto his face. His heart was racing, his hands still raised to shield himself. He let them drop to his side, letting out a sigh. Outside, in the kitchen, he could smell something cooking, which definitely made him get up. Not that he was particularly hungry – he was actually feeling a little nauseous – but the thought of Max cooking unsupervised was terrifying. So he was up, pulling on a black hoodie and a pair of tracksuit pants, and stomping out to the kitchen. “Max,” He snapped. “What the fuck are you-- Oh.”

Steve turned to look at him, a frying pan in his hand, grinning. “Good morning,” He said in a sing song voice. “I came to pick you up, since its like twelve and you were supposed to be around, like, an hour ago, so I assumed your car broke down or something? Anyway, I got here and Max was all like, he’s still asleep, you should probably let him sleep, he’s an ugly sight, and then I looked at you and you were muttering about lips, hair, and skin? And you were also, like, fucking drooling and flailing about so, you know, fuck that. Mrs Hargrove headed out to work and Max decided she was hungry, so,” Steve raised the frying pan, obviously proud of himself. “Pancakes!”

And honestly? _Jesus fucking Christ_. “You came over,” Billy said blankly. “And made fucking pancakes?”

“Yep! Also, my parents are home, so,” He shuffled around, looking awkward. “I thought maybe I could hang here for a bit.”

“And I said its fine!” Max chirped, looking ecstatic from her spot on the bench, a plate of pancakes so high it looked like it was about to fall at any minute. She poured maple syrup over her pancakes, grinning. Billy looked back at Steve.

“You are a fucking nightmare, Steve Harrington,” Billy muttered, suddenly insecure about his frizzy blonde curls. He tugged the hood over his head and sat down at the table. “Fine. Give me some fucking pancakes.”

Billy let himself melt into his thoughts, his mind drifting back to the dream he had the night beforehand.

_I love him, and yeah, he’s never going to love me back because he has Nancy, or-- or Heather, or Tina, or Tammy, or all of those other bitches, but I cant stop loving him_ \--

He glanced up to see Steve, brown eyes seemingly golden in the morning sun, sitting across from him and working on eating a single pancake. He was speaking to Max, telling her about Christmas in Hawkins. The older boy told her he had brought her a present, and Billy nearly smiled when he saw Max’s excitement. It was nice seeing Max happy. It was nice seeing Steve… Act happy. Because his eyes, his fucking gorgeous brown eyes, they were still empty. They were always empty. Billy didn't know if he could ever fix the emptiness, trauma, and loneliness inside of Steve’s mind. Steve acted like he didn't care about murder, but he had to, right? Steve Harrington was not a psychopath. The people he killed, they had to be tearing at him like Neil was doing to Billy.

At that moment, Steve turned and grinned at Billy, his eyes dark and wild. Billy coughed around a mouthful of pancakes and looked away.

Voices, nightmares, hallucinations… Those things had to be happening to Steve as well, or already had happened. Neil haunted him, his dreams and thoughts and every day life. Neil was always going to be a part of him. Billy found himself wondering if this was how things were supposed to turn out. One of them dead, the other with blood on his hands. It was only natural, considering the anger issues they shared, and the countless reasons Neil hated his son and Billy hated his father.

“So,” Max said, a mischievous grin on her face. “Where were you two going before Billy decided to be an asshole and sleep in until after lunch?”

Billy glowered at her, while Steve shrugged. “I’m not sure, actually, just kind of wanted to hang out. Maybe get of the house for a while. Figured we’d go and smoke some weed, maybe hit up a diner or something,” He then turned towards Billy. “Is that cool with you?”

“’S fine,” Billy muttered. “Just let me get dressed, okay?”

“You look fine as is though.”

“Ha ha,” Billy said sarcastically. “My hair is a fucking mess. Not all of us are born with flawless hair that’s always styled to perfection. _My_ hair goes frizzy when I sleep,” Billy pointed his fork at the two of them, glaring murderously. “Tell anyone I told you that, and you’re dead, got it shitheads?”

“The only reason it goes frizzy is because you don't plait it anymore,” Max replied. Billy flared his nostrils at her like an angry bull and stood up, shoving his (now) empty plate towards Steve. As he began to walk towards his bedroom, he heard Steve ask about the plait, and Max reply, “He used to plait his hair every night so it would be extra curly in the morning, and it wouldn't frizz up...”

<><><><>

They dropped Max off at the arcade beforehand, because Steve insisted it wasn't a good idea for her to be home alone ( _“What if a fucking burglar breaks in?! And kidnaps her?!”_ ), even though Billy figured she’d be fucking fine ( _“They’d return the brat within the hour, okay, she’d talk their fucking heads off.”_ ). After Steve and Billy had argued back and forth about Max for a few minutes, the girl had finally chimed in with a solution ( _“You_ _dork_ _s are driving me insane, just leave me at the arcade and I’ll be fine.”_ ). So, with Max inside surrounded by video games and a goofy boyfriend who had waited for her outside the door, Billy and Steve were finally free to do what they wanted without the kids.

The day passed quickly. Billy found himself actually enjoying himself, which was both weird and nice. They went out to a small diner on the edge of town, got milkshakes, and teased each other about the flavours. _“Strawberry? Seriously?”_ Steve had laughed, then taken a big sip out of a custom milkshake the owners of the diner knew he wanted, a mix of chocolate, vanilla, and caramel. Billy had then proceeded to drink some of Steve’s shake and gagged, pretending to be sick at the flavour. To be fair, though, it _was_ disgusting, and the older boy was a fucking freak for drinking it.

The pair stopped by Steve’s house to grab some sort of twelve-sided dice that one of the kids had left, and Billy got the pleasure of meeting Steve’s parents. His mother, a stuck up, fancy lady had stayed close to Billy, her hand grazing his ass and her chest often pressed against his arm a little too often for it to be called a mistake. Steve’s father was the opposite of “friendly,” which was how Steve embarrassingly tried to describe his mother. Mr Harrington was cold, distant, and told Steve to get out of his office when Steve tried to introduce Billy to his father. Said he didn't have time for rude delinquents and useless sons who couldn't get into college. Steve had dragged Billy out of the house then, his cheeks tinged pink, babbling about how he wasn't in the best place with his parents right now.

Snow was stuck to Max’s hair when she crawled into the car, nose turned pink and skin pale from the cold. She instantly began to speak about beating the high score of Dig Dug _twice_ in one hour, her red hair bouncing excitedly. Billy listened with a bored expression on his face, but inside, he was proud of the little monster. Remembered when he was teaching her to play the game, a small girl with her mouth set straight in a determined line. He doubted he could beat her now, if they ever competed against each other. He hadn't even _been_ inside an arcade for years, now. Not since a person with brown eyes, glasses, and dark skin had egged him on, teasing Billy about being a secret nerd. Not since the aftermath in the alleyway behind the arcade. Not since happy brown eyes turned blank.

Pulling his mind away from his thoughts, Billy looked up to find they had arrived back at Cherry Road, their sweet, perfect looking house quickly approaching in the distance. The small house didn't stick out at all amongst the others on their street. They looked like a normal family – had always _tried_ to be a normal family. But sooner or later, Billy would fuck up in some way or the other, and Neil snapped. A slap, a punch, even a kick, and the pretty lie of a normal family was ruined for the people inside the domestic looking home. Yet, Neil always made sure he kept his reputation in check. No one knew; No one was _supposed_ to know. Except they did, because Max blabbed and people saw. They did, because Billy fell in love and he had to face the consequences of his actions. They did, because Neil had made a mistake he said he would never make again. He let Billy off his leash for a few months. So, when Social Services came knocking on the door, Neil had packed them all up and moved them to a small, shitty town in the middle of fucking nowhere. The house on Cherry Road held nothing but bad memories for Billy.

After killing the engine, Billy headed inside, Max close on his heels. Susan wasn't home when they entered – she was probably out looking for Neil again. Guilt hit him the moment he saw the note taped to the door, his suspicions confirmed. The woman was searching the surrounding forests for her husband again. He made Max some dinner, grabbed an apple, then headed to his bedroom, not all that hungry. His stomach rumbled loudly, but he felt nauseous every time Susan was out looking for him, knowing he caused her that pain and feeling of abandonment. So, apple abandoned, Billy opened his window and let the cold air into his already freezing bedroom, chain-smoking until he felt tired enough to fall asleep.

Christmas Eve was the next day. Billy spent it wrapping presents and looking around stores to buy something else for Max, since he got a glimpse of what she got him (New boots and a really pretty lighter that had obviously been expensive, since it had a skull smoking and Billy’s name in cursive writing engraved onto it), so he had decided to look around and see if he could find something else to buy her. After a while, he found himself standing inside a sports store, flipping through the pages of a fitness comic. He put it back, then spent way too long staring at the skateboards, picking them up and feeling the weight of them. Eventually, he decided on one decorated with blue and pink, slapping it down on the counter and glaring at the boy behind it when he raised his eyebrows at Billy. When Billy left, the skateboard tucked into a plastic bag in his hands, his eye caught on something in a store window across the street. After glancing left and right, he walked across and came to a stop outside the store.

In the window sat a light blue budgie. Its ocean-blue feathers blended in with the rest of the birds, the only different thing about it being how far away from the others it sat. Without a second thought, Billy entered the store and left with the blue budgie in a cheap, black cage.

He found himself putting a big white ribbon on top when he got home, labelling the present _Pretty Boy_ and humming a little tune as he worked. Max entered without knocking, causing him to quickly shove the skateboard wrapped in blue tissue paper under his bed. He glared up at her. “What do you want, Maxine?”

She gasped, squatting down in front of the cage. The bird tweeted at her and spun around on its mirror. “Cute!” She exclaimed. “Whats its name?”

“Dunno,” Billy replied, poking his finger through the cage as the bird studied him curiously. “He’s, uh. A present. Not for you, before you ask,” He yanked his finger back as it tried to nip him. “I got you something else.”

“I got you something too!” She exclaimed, sitting down more comfortably. Billy discreetly pushed the skateboard further under the bed and raised his eyebrows.

“Did you now?”

“Yep! I’m not going to tell you though. Whose this cutie for?” She adjusted the ribbon on top of the cage, cooing as the little bird began to drink from the water container.

“None ya,” Billy answered. “Get out, shithead.”

“Ugh, fuck you,” The small fiery girl answered, slamming the door on her way out.


	8. Bilbo, Billy For Short

The day after Christmas, Billy headed over to Steve’s house with the bird sitting on the passenger seat. He couldn't stand the fucking thing. It had been living in his bedroom for two days – Susan hated birds and refused to have it in the lounge – so Billy had woken up every day to cheeping beside his ear. He debated taking it back to the pet shop, wondering if it was too clingy to get Steve a pet for Christmas. But the pet shop wouldn't be open for another four days, and Billy wanted to get rid of it, so. Steve’s house.

Steve answered the door in a ruffled suit and dark circles under his eyes, looking exhausted. In his hand, clutched tightly, was a bottle of red wine. He wasn't drunk, but certainly on his way to it. Billy held up the curtained cage and shrugged. “Merry Christmas, Harrington.”

“Whats that?” Steve asked with creased brows. The bird tweeted underneath the cloth, and Billy couldn't help but smile when Billy’s face immediately brightened. “Oh my god, a bird? Cute!”

“You haven't even seen it yet,” Billy reminded him, carefully handing the cage over to the older boy. Steve took it, jerking his head at Billy to invite him inside. The bird was set on the table, the cloth removed. Steve cooed at it, sticking his finger through the bars.

“Aw, shit, look at him. He’s fucking adorable.”

“Yeah, well,” Billy scratched his head. “Figured you’d be a little lonely in this manor of yours, so--”

At that moment, a thump sounded from upstairs, followed by shouting. One by one, tiny nerds raced down the stairs, followed by Maxine. They skidded to a stop when they saw Billy, who scowled. Max said, “The bird was for _Steve_?” and Billy turned away from her.

“A bird!” Sinclair exclaimed, moving closer. “Aw! Whats his name?”

“Not sure,” Steve answered.

Henderson approached, eyeing the bird warily. “Can I name him?”

“ _No_ ,” Billy grumbled, at the same time Steve said, “Sure.”

Billy scowled.

When Billy left an hour later, a wine bottle sitting on his passenger seat as well as a small box he had yet to open, his heart was thudding so loudly in his chest he was sure the entire town of Hawkins could hear it. _Bilbo_ , they had named the bird. _“His name is Bilbo!”_ Which was fine, whatever, total nerd thing but Billy had read The Hobbit as well and he figured that Bilbo wasn't a _terrible_ name for the little shit. But then Steve had looked over at Billy, lips pink, brown eyes darker than ever, and had said, _“We can call him Billy for short. Because he’s blue. Nearly as blue as your eyes.”_

“Nearly as blue as your eyes,” Billy whispered to himself, unable to be heard over Metallica. “What the fuck… _Nearly as blue as your eyes_.”

Another day passed without contact between Steve and him. Max and Billy got into an argument over Billy’s newfound delight in ignoring her boyfriend – she said he was being rude, he said she was always fucking rude and seriously, what did she _expect_ – but ended up falling asleep together on the couch anyway. Susan finally agreed to stop looking for Neil after a long crying session that included Billy listening from his bedroom guiltily, and Max trying desperately to comfort her mother.

After a bad nightmare on the day before New Years Eve, Billy sat up in his bed and unwrapped the small box Steve had given him. For a split second, Billy thought Steve was proposing through a Christmas gift, before he opened it and instead saw two sparkling blue diamond studs.

“What the fuck, Harrington,” Billy murmured as he picked them up, studying them. They glinted against the light of his lamp as he moved them around in his fingers, his thumb rubbing the stud and feeling a terrifying clink against his ring as he did so. As far as he could tell, they were real. Actual, real, fucking diamonds. There was a note on the box when he looked down, so he carefully placed the earrings back and read the note with narrowed eyes.

_Hargrove_ – It read, in messy handwriting.

_Hargrove. These are my Mum’s. She got an identical pair for Christmas. Tossed them to me, said to give them to my girlfriend or something. Currently single, though, so I figured you’d like them. You’re the only one I know with your ears pierced anyway._

_-Steve_

_(PS: They’re real diamonds. If you don't want them, you can sell them to the pawn shop on main. You’ll get a lot of money.)_

_(PPS: Don't freak out – The kids are talking about skating on Lovers Lake when it gets colder. They wont find him.)_

Shakily, Billy tore off the PPS and lit it on fire, tossing the ashes into the bin once done. The thought of children – innocent children – skating over the watery grave if his father was not only scary, it was panic inducing. A rotting corpse was underneath them. What if a child fell through? Drowned with his father’s body beside them? Died looking into soulless eyes? Would Neil even be rotting, or was it too cold? Was he still stiff, still looking alive, eyes still full of hatred? Or maybe… Maybe, Neil would come back to life. Crawl out of the water, holding onto the child’s leg as he did so. They wouldn't pull one body out of the water, they’d pull out _two_ , one a shivering child and the other a dead man who came back to life, itching for revenge. Neil would arrive home covered in frost and then… Then Billy didn't even want to think of the consequences.

Mist clouded his features when he looked in the mirror, the coldness of the air stinging him as the mirror had been moved next to the window, which he often kept open due to his need for smoking. He attempted to pull his mind away from the thoughts of Neil walking up the street towards him, and picked up the earrings. After wiping away the mist with his hoodie sleeve – he mostly wore hoodies nowadays – he took out his simple hoop to replace it with the glistening diamond. It felt heavier than the cheap metal shit he always wore… And somewhat satisfying.

_Pretty_ , he thought, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. _I look… Pretty._ The light hit the diamonds just right, making the icy blueness of the jewellery compliment his ocean blue eyes. Like frost and salt water – snow and sunshine.

The earrings were beautiful. He curled his hair into a bun and went over to his cupboard to fetch a blue shirt, tugging it on and actually doing the buttons up. After that, he added a pair of light blue jeans, and licked his lips to make them redder.

_Fuck_ , he looked good. And he fucking knew it. He imagined what would have happened had Neil still been alive and saw him like this. Neil would have– _No_. Billy wanted to have a few moments to himself, a few moments were he wasn't worried about Neil returning from the dead, or Steve’s empty eyes, or tears sliding down Max’s cheeks as she begged him not to kill himself. Just for a moment, he wanted to appreciate life, the way it should have been. Peaceful. Beautiful. Pure serenity.

As he stared at himself in the mirror, admiring the way his jaw looked and eyes sparkled, his mind turned to Steve. Not his dark eyes, for once, but all the other features of the older boy. Light brown hair, goofy smile. Long, lanky body, loose clothing hanging off it. Dark green sweaters, rosy pink lips. Milky white skin, flushed cheeks.

_Steve, Steve, Steve_ , his mind chanted. _Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve. I love Steve._

With a sudden jolt, Billy looked away from the mirror, cheeks bright red. _What_? _No_. Men were dangerous, Billy had learned that the hard way. Despite Neil’s death, Billy was still haunted by the empty brown eyes back in California, still haunted by the screaming in his ear.

_He hadn't done anything. He had just… Stood there. He stood there and fucking watched._

Loving a man was wrong, and Billy had come to accept that fact long ago. He knew it was dangerous, to have those thoughts. He didn't love Steve – He _couldn't_ love Steve. It had been so long since a thought such as that had intruded his mind; he thought he was cured, he thought he was _fixed_.

Suddenly, every single thing he did when Steve was around seemed wrong, as if he was a twelve year old boy pulling on his crushes pigtails in the playground. Calling him _pretty_ – No, that wasn't gay! He meant pretty as in _pansy_. _Pansy boy_ , not _pretty boy_. Touching Steve at any opportunity wasn't gay either, because he hadn't _known_ he was in love with Steve. He didn't know, he didn't fucking know.

Except.

He had known.

All those days ago, when nightmares invaded his mind and hallucinations covered his eyes, he had admitted to it. _He loved Steve. He knew he loved Steve. He_ said _he loved Steve._

Billy turned, punching his wall as hard as he could three times, staining the paint job red with his blood. Next door, Max stirred, the sound of the bed creaking bringing Billy back into sanity. It was three am, he reminded himself. He couldn't afford to wake up Max, couldn't afford to cry in front of her again and admit he was in love with Steve Harrington. “Fuck,” He whispered as tears pricked at his eyes. “Fucking _fuck_.”

Silence filled the house. Billy held his breath, not sure what he was waiting for, but unable to break the quiet spell all the same.

Then, he decided, _fuck it_. He grabbed his car keys and a jacket, pulled on his boots, and walked out to his car.

His hands shook the entire ride over, yet Billy ignored all of the thoughts that came into his head, all the urges just to jerk the wall and put himself through a tree. He kept driving, slowly creeping along the country roads and slowing down even more when Steve’s house approached in the distance. The engine had barely been turned off before Billy was out of the car, walking across the frost covered stones of Steve’s driveway towards the yellow light of the lounge room.

He threw open the front door.

Steve was there.

He was covered in blood.

There was a knife in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have left you at a cliffhanger!! Mwahahaha!!!


	9. These Men Are Weeds, And I'm A Gardener

Billy staggered back, his hand gripping the freezing cold door handle as tightly as he could. Steve’s eyes were _wild_ , no longer empty but instead traced with cold, murderous delight and, unless Billy was mistaken, pure _happiness_.

“What the fuck,” Billy choked out. “You-- Blood-- Who the fuck did you kill?!”

Steve twirled the knife around in his hands, the point digging into the meaty flesh of his pale, milky finger until a small prick of blood squeezed out, falling to the floor. The boy didn't even flinch. “Came looking for a friend of mine,” Steve said in a voice that made chills run up Billy’s spine. “Wanted to take her – To take her back to the lab. He wanted to experiment on her again. Trust me, Billy, its better like this. El is safe – and if El is safe, then Hawkins is safe.”

It was the first time Billy’s name had come off Steve’s tongue. It sounded delicious. Billy wanted to make him say it all day long. Yet, the way it was said, the blood covering Steve’s hands and chests… Billy never wanted to hear Steve speak his name again. “Who...” He stammered. “El? E-experiment?”

“And,” Steve continued, as if he hadn't even heard Billy’s distress. “If El is safe, and Hawkins is safe, then that means your safe. I care about that, you know. I care about you.”

Billy felt bile rising up in his throat. As much as the words _I care about you_ had made him feel good, he could see feet just behind the corner of the hallway. There was a fucking _body_ there, a body who’s death Steve was the cause of.

“Come in?” Steve asked. “I know you wont tell anyone. You have your own secrets, don't you Billy? Come on, come in. Its not as gory as it seems.”

“You fucking _psycho_!” Billy found himself shouting, clawing at his neck with numb hands as he did so. “You killed him, he’s dead, he’s fucking _dead_ \--”

Steve’s hand clapped over his mouth as Billy’s chest started to rise up and down with pure panic. “No, no,” The dark-eyed boy said calmly. “Don’t be like that. Come in, Billy. Come on. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Like this. One… Two… One… Two...”

And Billy? He found himself actually calming down, his chest eventually stilling once Steve’s hand was removed from his mouth. His body acted of its own accord, pulling him into the house, closing the door behind him. He slowly approached the body, taking deep breaths as he did so.

The man had three simple marks in his chest, blood slowly running out of the holes, pooling on the dark wooden floor. His face’s last expression was twisted into a mixture of shock and anger, and in his pocket, Billy could see the handle of a pistol. The nameless man’s hand was clasped tightly around the gun, as if he was going to pull it out and shoot Steve.

Billy’s throat went dry. Not from the sight of the body, but the thought of Steve’s death. “You could have died,” He whispered. “He was going to kill you… So you killed him.”

“It was self defence,” Steve agreed quietly. “Just like it was with you. I don't hunt them down, you know? They come to me, and they want to hurt El. They want to kill her, and me, because we know to much. They want to kill my friends. So whenever they go around to our houses, like a monthly fucking check up on us, they’re directed to my house. The kids don't know. Neither does Hopper, or Joyce. They don't know what happens to these men when they come up to me. All they know is if they want to get rid of someone asking for a tiny girl so they can experiment on her, they send them to me, saying I’m keeping her at my place. And it works, it fucking works every time. They come in, I tell them I don't know where she is, they get frustrated and try to get their gun, but--”

“But then you kill them,” Billy interrupted, his eyes glued to the gun in the mans hand. “Before they can kill you. And that girl, El. You kill them to help. You’re helping.”

“I’m not… I’m not like the fucking Axeman, or Jack The Ripper. I’m simply getting rid of a monster.”

When Billy finally looked up, his eyes meeting with Steve’s, he was surprised to see sadness in them. “It’s what I do,” Steve murmured. “I hunt monsters. Whether I like it or not.”

“But I thought you _liked_ killing them?” Billy asked, confused. “You always seem kind of… Happy, whenever you talk about it. Like its a hobby or something.”

“Oh, don't get me wrong,” Steve laughed wryly. “I like getting rid of them. But killing? No. Not so much. I just like it when their gone. Its like… Like pulling out a weed. You get dirt all over your hands when you do it, and its exhausting, because that weed _doesn't want to budge_ , but once its out you’re left with a satisfaction. These men are weeds, and I’m a gardener. These men are monsters, and I’m the poor fuck who kills them.”

Billy didn't know what to say to that. All this time, he had thought Steve hunted people down for sport, pulling them into alleys and murdering them in the dead of the night. But really, they were approaching him, harassing him, wanting to _experiment_ on a little girl. Really, he was doing it to help. Like a masked hero that nobody understood.

The silence that followed was both unnoticeable and the only thing they could hear at once. Steve’s eyes held emotion them, real emotion. Billy hadn't seen that for months. In fact, he wondered if he had ever seen the real emotion behind the dark brown windows that apparently held Steve’s soul. He knew that Steve could definitely _fake_ emotions, could put on a smile and act like the prissy teenage boy he was. But now, Billy had the privilege of seeing the real Steve, the fucked up, scared, broken Steve. The Steve who killed to save his friends, and had grown so used to it he now found some sort of twisted delight in the slaughter. The Steve who felt real, human emotions unlike the Steve that Billy had become accustomed to. Steve’s emotions were so raw, so real, that Billy wasn't sure what to do. Did he comfort him? Was he supposed to give him a hug? It seemed like Steve had been bottling everything up for a while, so when Billy noticed a tear pricking at the older boy’s eyes he wasn't surprised. Not pleased, because Billy wasn't great with crying people, but definitely not surprised.

“I’m sorry,” Steve laughed bitterly, turning away. It was at that moment that Billy realised they’d been staring at each other for around a minute before either one of them looked away. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this emotional, I can… I can hide it. Don't worry, you wont have to deal with me crying, alright? I’m just. You know. A little, uh, hyped up? Is that the word? Like excited, but in a bad way?”

“Shaken up?” Billy offered. “Fazed? Unsettled? Ruffled? Perturbed?”

“Uh,” Steve’s brow knitted together. “Yeah. Shaken up.”

“I was too,” The blonde replied. “But… I guess you saw that, huh? After my dad. And he was only one person. I couldn't imagine taking the lives of more. I don't know how you do this. Go through your life every day, as if you don't live like this in the dark. As if people aren't after you. That's _insane_ , Steve. Horrific, sad, and _insane_.”

A beat of silence followed. Then, Steve quietly murmured, “You called me Steve.”

“Huh?” Billy stared at him. “Oh, yeah. I guess I did.”

“Weird night,” Steve said. “The guy was speaking Russian, you called me by my first name, not Harrington or Pretty Boy. And...” He squinted his eyes. “And you’re wearing them. The earrings. I figured you’d just sell them. I didn't know you’d… Actually...”

Feeling insecure and perhaps a little bit too feminine, Billy took his hair out of the bun to cover his ears with the golden curls, scowling. His blue eyes narrowed at Steve, arms crossed as Steve hurriedly attempted to fix his mistake. “You look pretty, though!” He blurted out. “Like, really pretty. I think – even though you call me pretty – I think you might be the pretty one. Your eyes… They’re sparkly. They glitter more than the diamonds.”

“Thanks,” Billy calmly said, trying his hardest not to mimic the panic and excitement on the inside through his voice or features. “No shit I’m pretty. I’m fucking hot as fuck, man.”

“No– well, _yeah_ –” Billy blinked. “–Yeah, you’re hot, but the earrings just make you look… Pretty. Like a, uh, prince, or something. Maybe a princess.”

“You’re so flustered,” Billy teased, his eyebrows raised. “Am I really that pretty, Stevie?” He fluttered his eyelashes mockingly, bringing his hands up so he could rest his chin on the back of his fingers. “Am I a pretty, pretty princess? Gee, thanks!”

“Stop being a dick,” Steve grumbled, looking away, his cheeks a brighter shade of red than the blood on the floor. “You know what I _mean_.”

“Um? Actually, I don't? Am I or am I not a pretty, pretty princess, sweetheart? That's what you _said_ , don't try to _deny_ it, you sly fuck. You said I’m a pretty princess!”

At this time, Steve’s cheeks were so red that Billy wondered if maybe he should stop his teasing – Was Steve going to faint? Billy lowered his hands, letting his teasing smirk drop into a smaller, more subtle smile. “Thank you,” He said sincerely. “I know what you mean.”

Then Steve was leaning in, and Billy could feel the gap getting smaller and smaller between them, and he moved closer even quicker than Steve was doing and he knew that Steve was going to kiss him – _holy shit, Steve was going to kiss him!_ – and his hands were on Steve’s arms and their lips were about to meet and…

And Steve put his hands on Billy’s chest, stopping the younger boy from moving any closer. “I think I might like you,” The older boy whispered. “Is that okay?”

“I think I like you too,” Billy murmured back, the feeling of Steve’s hands on him absolutely fucking _electric_. Steve smelt of blood, metallic and bold, and of salt water. He smelt like the ocean. Why did he smell like the ocean? Steve smelt like _home_ , the aroma of the waves and the sand and the breeze quickly overtaking the scent of murder and violence. “I think I really like you, you fucking dickhead,” He squeezed Steve’s wrist tightly. “I think I really fucking like you.”

“Good,” Steve said.

“Can you kiss me already, _asshole_?” Billy asked.

“There’s a dead body on the floor, _dickhead_.”

“Fine, whatever you say, _dumbass_.”

“I promise I’ll kiss you when its gone, _prick_.”

Later that night, after an hour long drive to the middle of nowhere to dump the dead man’s body in an abandoned and dried up well, they headed up to Steve’s bed with a certain kind of hazy peace following them. Billy wasn't the least bit tired; he had fallen asleep in the car on the way home, radio playing quietly and Steve’s long finger rubbing circles on his knee. Steve didn't seem tired either, even though he hadn't fallen asleep in the car. He seemed giddy, almost wide awake when they were walking up the stairs, bumping each others shoulders playfully.

For the first time in a while, Billy felt _happy_. Yes, they had just dumped a body, and yes, he knew it was dangerous for him to be with Steve, but he couldn't help it. He felt fucking happy.

“Can I fucking kiss you now?” Billy asked breathlessly after chasing Steve up the stairs and playfully wrestling with him in the hallway. Steve let out a _tch_ sound, staring down at Billy from where he was seated on top of the bed, Billy at his feet with his back to the wall, a cigarette in his mouth.

“I thought you did what you wanted?” Steve cheekily said. Billy narrowed his eyes, stubbed his cigarette out on the floor (ignoring Steve’s complaints) and stood up, staring down at the boy in front of him. Steve didn't flinch away like he used to. People rarely seemed to do that anymore. “Big, bad, Billy Hargrove,” Steve sang. “Too scared to take what he wants. Decides to ask for a kiss!”

“Just making sure, shithead,” Billy hissed, throwing himself down on the bed next to Steve and moving so close that he could feel breath against his lips. “I just like to make sure.”

“Fine,” Steve’s dark eyes sparkled in the colourful lustre of the fairy lights he had strewn around his bedroom. “Get over here, dickhead.”

_Finally._

Billy slowly moved forward, giving Steve plenty of time to stop him. _Just in case_ , he reminded himself. In a town such as Hawkins, with boys such as Steve, you had to get the confirmation about five times before allowing yourself the privilege to touch. Even then, you still had to be careful. Cautiousness was _important_.

Their lips met, and Billy felt his heart explode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time I wrote a book it was a slow burn, so I decided this one wouldn't be. You're welcome haha


	10. A Truce

Three hours later the pair laid in Steve’s bed, their faces inches away from each other, their hair and clothes ruffled. Steve’s lip was bleeding slightly, red splattered along his lips as he stared at Billy with a small smile on his face. “I love your eyes,” Steve murmured, reaching out to tuck a curl behind the younger boy’s ear. “Like, really love them. Seems like they hold the ocean.”

“Yours are like chocolate,” Billy replied honestly. “Like… Like the cake my mum used to make for me. Or like a puppy’s – all deep, and brown, and loving.”

“I love your lips.”

“I love _your_ lips. They’re red. Red, like your blood,” Billy reached over, wiping the crimson liquid away from Steve’s mouth, creating a smear of red on the boy’s milky white skin.

“Your hair,” Steve supplied. “Curly. Blonde. Feminine, I guess? And pretty… Really pretty.”

Billy brushed his blonde locks away they fell in front of his eyes again. “I got it from my mum,” He whispered. “She had even blonder hair. She was pretty,” Billy turned on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He imagined his mother’s bright blue eyes, shining with happiness as he had run back to her, celebrating his passion for surfing. _The wave was at least seven feet!_ “She had blue eyes. And blonde hair. And she used to wear this really long dress that her friend Wendy gave her,” He closed his eyes, almost able to smell the salt of the ocean and hear her cheering. “She loved bright colours. Total hippie, man, but… Fuck. She was so nice. Loved everyone.”

“Do you miss her?” Steve asked.

The blonde laughed bitterly. “Miss her? Yeah, fuck yeah. So much. More than anything. But she’s dead now, and I can’t do jack shit about that, can I?” Billy suddenly fell silent, unsure why he had just volunteered so much personal information about himself without protest. When he turned, Steve was staring at him with his big, sad, Bambi eyes. “I should go,” The blonde said, unable to receive Steve’s pity. “This was fun, but I don't much like the idea of Max all alone at home. Susan’s got work from six until three today, so… Uh,” He pointed at the door. “Guess I’d better make sure the brat doesn't burn down the house.”

“No, yeah, I get it,” Steve sat up, desperately trying to make his hair look better by brushing it back. Billy would have laughed at the messiness if he wasn't in a bad mood and he didn't know his hair was just as bad, if not worse. “I’ve actually got some shit to do, some stuff to clean, you get it.”

“Yeah, so,” The pair awkwardly nodded at each other. “Guess I’ll seeya around then, Harrington.”

“Yep,” Steve agreed. “Next time one of us commits murder, I guess.”

Billy frowned, ready to open his mouth and tell Steve that he probably shouldn’t joke about that shit, when he heard a car approaching up the cobblestones of the driveway. Confused, he glanced out the window to see **Hawkins Police Dept.** written boldly across the side of the car, **Chief** written just a few inches above and to the side.

Panic surged inside him as he yanked the hideous plaid curtains shut, feeling himself instantly pale. “The fucking chief is here!” He hissed at Steve, who yawned, revealing his teeth.

“The fuck does Hop want? Give me a sec, Billy, I’ll go see what the oaf wants now,” He pushed himself up and pulled on a pair of tracks and a dark green sweater, leaving the door wide open when he left. Billy leapt forward, closing it as quietly as he could and peeking through the curtains to see Hopper parking just behind his own camaro. “Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” He whispered as he watched Steve approach him, wrapping a scarf around his neck and rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“Hiya, Chief!” Steve said cheerfully, barely able to be heard by Billy through the window. Billy leaned forward and gripped onto the curtains tightly. “What can I do ya for?”

“Why is Hargrove here?” The policeman asked with raised eyebrows, staring at Billy’s car. “You two hanging around each other again? I thought this stopped a couple weeks back.”

Steve leaned forward, murmuring something quietly to Hopper. Billy scowled, annoyed about being unable to hear what was being said, especially when it was _obviously_ about him. However, his annoyance evaporated when the chief nodded, shaking Steve’s hand before he got into his car and left. Steve looked up at the window, his eyes meeting Billy’s. He shot him a goofy grin and began to head inside when Billy glared at him.

By the time Steve got upstairs and entered the bedroom, Billy was tying his shoelaces with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. He looked over at Steve, head tipped back, and lit the cigarette. “Whatcha tell him?” Billy gruffly asked. “You tell him we made out? Because I swear, Harrington, if you _did_ \--”

“Hey,” Steve raised his hands in surrender. “Relax, dude. I didn't tell him anything. You don't need to worry about it, alright?”

“Fine,” Billy grumbled with annoyance, abandoning his knotted shoelaces for a second. “Whatever.”

“Just give me a sec, would ya? I’m coming with.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m _bored_ , okay Billy? Figured we could hang out for a bit, since we, you know...” He gestured vaguely towards Billy, who raised his eyebrows, his mouth falling open a little.

“We’re not _boyfriends_ ,” Billy reminded harshly. “We made out, admitted we like each other, and that’s it. We haven't gone on _dates_ , okay? We’re just two guys who maybe, just a little, have some dumbass crushes on each other.”

“Maybe not,” The older boy agreed. “But we’re still friends, and you can’t deny that.”

The blonde took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes. He could still smell Steve’s electric aroma from all the way across the room, mixed with his own cologne, and the smell of sweat from the clothes on the ground. When he opened his eyes, Steve was leaning against the wall, bundled up tightly in three sweaters and a scarf. “I’ll make you more pancakes,” Steve offered sweetly. “Strawberry, this time. You like strawberries, don't you?”

Strawberry pancakes did sound nice. Billy shot him a sarcastic smile. “Gee! Strawberry pancakes? Sold!”

“Okay, why are you being such an asshole?” Steve moved forward, the pad of his thumb reaching out to softly stroke Billy’s cheek. Billy looked away, and Steve’s hand dropped. “You weren't like this last night, or this morning… Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me or something?”

“No,” Billy mumbled. “I’m not mad, I’m just…” Billy fell silent, searching for the right word. He settled on throwing his arm up vaguely, hoping that Steve would understand he didn't know how to feel. “Doesn't matter, okay? You coming or what, loser?”

By the time they arrived at Billy’s house, they could see two teenagers moving around inside. _Time After Time_ was playing so loudly the pair could easily hear it from the driveway. A boy moved past the window, and they got a glimpse of dark skin. Billy narrowed his eyes. “ _Sinclair_ ,” He hissed, scrunching his hands into fists. Then, he let himself relax, his hands falling open at his sides and his head lolling back onto the headrest. “Sinclair,” He repeated, quieter and more tired. “Max has been on my ass about apologising to the fucker for months now.”

“If you’re not going to apologise,” Steve said, looking at his nails in a bored manner, “Then at the very least be civil, would you?”

When they entered the house, Billy with his arms crossed and Steve moving in front, the two kids froze. Sinclair looked up at Billy, chest puffed out, eyes full of both fear and determination. _Fucking do it, then_ , his face seemed to say. _I’m not scared of you_. Billy cracked his knuckles – everyone tensed, Max whispered, “Billy, don't you _dare_ ,” – but then Billy nodded at the younger boy. “Sinclair,” He said gruffly, along with a nod.

Sinclair’s lips parted slightly, but he quickly regained his false pretence of bravado and nodded back. “Hargrove.”

It appeared they had come to a truce.

Of course, it didn't mean Billy was going to be _nice_ to Sinclair. The kid was dating his step-sister, for Christs sake. He was allowed to be a little mean. But still, Billy found himself having to hold back when Max got confused about _The_ _Lord Of The Rings_ and Sinclair tried to explain Smeagol and Gollum were actually the same creature. Steve and Max were both confused about that, until Billy sighed and said, “The ring changed him, dumbasses. He wanted to keep it secret so bloody much that he hid himself in a cave. There, he became Gollum instead of Smeagol. It’s not that complicated,” He then turned to Sinclair, crossing his arms. “You gotta speak dumb to them, man. Don't use big words. Stevie doesn't understand them, and he’s too afraid to ask what they mean, and Max just ends up storing them in that dictionary head of hers and losing track of everything you just said.”

“Oh,” Sinclair said, surprised. “Uh. Thanks for the advice.”

“ _Hey_!” Steve and Max chorused in offence.

“Whatever,” Max said after a beat of silence. “Comic books are better than novels anyway.”

“Oh, shut up, liar,” Billy scowled at her, shoving a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, then pointed his fork at Max. “You’ve read _The Shining_ about a hundred times.”

“You guys read books for _fun_?” Steve asked in disbelief, looking disgusted and shocked at the same time.

The four spent the day lazing around. They watched _Halloween_ , even though it was New Years Eve. Billy taught Max how to smoke, ignoring Steve’s yapping as he did so. She stopped when she halfway through, though – said it made her feel sick. Sinclair couldn't even get through two puffs, though, so compared to him she might as well have smoked ten before deciding to call it a day. Steve and Billy finished the cigarette between the two of them, blowing smoke all over Susan’s ugly flower curtains because there was nobody to stop them.

As the hours ticked by, Billy found himself actually enjoying himself with the people who, a few months ago, he thought he hated more than anyone except for his father. Yet, he discovered he could bond with Sinclair over _The Lord Of The Rings_ and _The Hobbit_ , even though it included admitting to the others that he actually like to read. He could bond with Max over how purely _dorky_ the other two were, could roar with laughter together whenever the pair did something goofy. And of course, he could bond with Steve over the love he felt for him, over the pain they shared, and pure exasperation because of the children.

The afternoon, all together, was annoyingly fun. Unfortunately, Susan arrived home at three, as promised, and was shocked to find the step-siblings in the lounge room with a black kid and the richest brat the town had to offer. She didn't rudely shoo them out, but she did remind Billy and Max that they had chores to do and the other two probably needed to get home to their parents. Steve looked sad at that, but brightened when Billy offered to drop both him and Sinclair home.

After leaving Steve at his manor, Billy was left alone in the car with Sinclair, for Max had been forced to stay back and clean her room. In fact, Susan told her she wasn't leaving until the room was sparkling. So, the pair were stuck in awkward silence until Sinclair blurted out, “Why are you racist?”

“I’m not?” Billy said, glancing at him for a moment as he turned the radio off. “I’m just… I was helping her.”

“By being racist,” The brat stated, a small sneer on his face. “Seriously?”

“No! I...” Billy let out a huff, then took a deep breath and quietly said. “I dated someone black, back in Cali--”

“So that instantly makes everything you did okay?!”

“Would you just fucking listen?!” Billy roared, causing the boy to go silent. “I dated someone black, back in California. My dad didn't like hi-- her. He didn't like her. Made me break with her, said he’d hurt her if I didn't. But he hurt her anyway,” Billy closed his eyes for a second, imagining dark brown eyes, darker than Steve’s. “Told me, if I ever _influenced_ Maxine like that again I’d be sorry. _She’d_ be sorry. I didn't want her to get hurt.”

Sinclair’s face softened. “You could have just said something,” He quietly murmured. “Instead of shoving me up against a wall and threatening my life.”

“I know,” Billy agreed.

“That was really messed up.”

“I know.”

“I was scared. I thought you were going to come after my family, my little _sister_ ,” Sinclair visibly shuddered. “She’s _nine_.”

“And I thought my dad was going to come after Max, okay?” Billy snapped. “I’m sorry I fucking scared you, alright man, but would you rather be scared or have Max come to school with a black eye? Hell, maybe he’d whip out the belt again, show her some bloody _discipline_. I was doing it for her, okay? I was fucking doing it for her.”

Billy wanted to laugh at Sinclair’s scared and confused face. Instead, he skidded to a stop in front of the kid’s house, leaning over to open the passenger door. A blast of freezing air hit them both in the face.

Sinclair hesitated, then stuck his hand out. “Thank you for protecting Max, then,” He said. “But I’m sure she wont need your protection in the future. You already know that, though, don't you?”

The blonde grabbed his hand gingerly, nodding as he did so. “Yeah. She’s a strong kid.”

They shook hands, then nodded at each other. Billy waited until Sinclair was safely inside before he sped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucas is actually my favourite character! He's such a strong boy, so sweet and yet down to earth. He questions things that need to be questions, but loyally steps in and saves those he loves! I really wanted to include Lucas in this book, but couldn't do it without making Billy and him make up.  
> I think killing Neil was the best thing that ever happened to Billy, in this book. I'm trying to convey the way he sees things (I'm not sure if its working), and trying to explain what happened. I'm not justifying what Billy did to Lucas in season 2, nor am I justifying what he did to Steve, but I am trying to figure out what happened to make him that way.  
> My tumblr is xxlost-in-starsxx


	11. A Fucking Squalor

1985 arrived. Billy didn't join the celebration like most of the kids at his school. Instead, he laid in bed, listening to the cheering of Susan and Max from the kitchen – _“Happy New Year!”_ – and the distant booming of fireworks that the corrupt mayor had organised.

He sighed, burrowing his face deeper into the cushion. The phone rang through the house, followed by the sound of Susan saying, “Hello?” A few moments passed before Susan timidly knocked on the door. “Billy? Are you awake? There’s someone on the phone for you.”

For a brief moment, he suspected it was Neil, calling to threaten him, before he realised Neil was dead. With the thought fresh on his mind, he dragged himself up and answered the phone. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Billy!” Steve voice said cheerfully. “Happy New Year!”

“Yeah,” Billy glanced outside, seeing the pitiful excuses for fireworks exploding in the sky. “Happy New Year to you too, Stevie.”

“I wish you were my midnight kiss,” Steve said, lowering his voice. “But my fucking parents, man.”

Steve’s parents were back in town for the new year, and had thrown a big party to celebrate. Apparently, most of Steve’s family along with a bunch of rich people from Hawkins and surrounding towns were attending. _“A night full of_ _fancy food_ _and disappointing my parents,”_ Steve had said the day before, rather miserably. Billy was glad he didn't have to attend fancy parties and act like a perfect teenager. His plans for the new year had been to sleep. The idea of partying seemed exhausting. “How bad is it?” Billy asked Steve through the phone. “On a scale of one to ten.”

“A fucking ten, man,” Steve sighed into the receiver, making the sound go fuzzy for a moment. “My aunt _Sally_ is here, with her asshole of a husband. And my fucking _cousin_. The little brat spilt a plate of stuffed mushrooms on my suit,” He sighed again. “That shit _stains_. Good thing I’ve got a spare jacket, but fuck, man.”

Billy couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. Steve sounded like _such_ a rich brat. He told Steve this through chuckles, and started to laugh again when Steve let out an offended squawk. “If you’re just going to be _mean_ \--”

“No, no, wait babe,” Billy said, biting back a smile. “I’m sorry. Its just so funny. _‘The stuffed mushrooms stain!’_ You know how fucking funny that is? Do the _Hors D’oeuvres_ also stain? What about the fancy champagne?”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve grumbled, quickly followed by, “Not all of the drinks are champagne, asshole. I’ll have you know, my mother is drinking red wine.”

Billy started to cackle once again, pouting when a beep told him Steve had hung up. He called back, saying through laughs when Steve picked up with a “What,” that he was sorry. “Its just so funny, Steve. Its so fucking funny.”

“You have no idea how much this night sucks,” The older boy complained into the phone. Billy resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“How about we meet up, then?” He offered. He hadn't seen Steve since the twenty-ninth, after all. And yes, that was only two days, but it was _technically_ last year, and as much as Billy hated to admit it, he missed the dork. “Tell your family you need to head out for a bit, I’m sure they wont mind...”

There was silence, which sounded like Steve was considering it. Then, Steve said, “Where do you wanna meet up?” Billy grinned.

“Quarry. Up near the cliff. We can have our own little fancy new years party.”

“Sounds great.”

“It will be. Race you there, dickhead.”

He hung up before Steve could say anything, shouted _“I’m going out!”_ to the ladies, and grabbed his car keys.

<><><><>

“So,” Steve said when he entered Billy’s car, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “What did you call me out here for?”

Billy pursed his lips, staring at the frost covered windscreen. “You ever wanna do something really stupid?” He asked. “Like, not hurt someone stupid, but like _stupid_ , stupid? Like joining a drag show, or dancing on top of a skyscraper?” He glanced over. Steve was staring at him. “Because I do,” He continued. “I’m in one of the moods to do something _really_ dumb, and I want you to join me.”

“Well,” Steve said, a small smile on his face. “Sorry to break it to ya, but we don't have any skyscrapers or drag shows here in boring ol’ Hawkins, but you know what we do have?” The smile turned into a big grin. “Plenty of empty rich people houses, all abandoned for one day to up to three weeks.”

The blonde felt his heart skip a beat. “You’re kidding?” He said, face splitting into an even bigger grin than Steve’s. “You wanna… For real? I thought you were a square!”

“The Mayors house is empty for at least two nights,” Steve said with a shrug. “He always parties hard on New Years, ends up passing out somewhere and going to hospital. And his wife isn't usually home anyway; most of the time she’s out fucking the delivery man. They don't have any kids.”

“Now this!” Billy whooped as he started the car. “I’ve been waiting to see this King Steve everyone’s been telling me _so_ much about!”

The line was familiar, familiar in a way it had been shouted to Steve by Billy so many times. But the time that Billy remembered most was the first time he said it – _that_ night. When Billy’s fists met Steve’s face, Max’s screams echoing around the house, begging him to stop. He had been almost glad, when he woke up to find he’d been tranquillised. The thought of killing Steve now seemed so surreal, so horrific that Billy never wanted to even think the words _Steve_ and _death_ in the same sentence.

He glanced over at Steve, his heart skipping a beat as the older boy’s pink lips moved along to the song, his brown eyes shut tightly.

_He was in love._

Billy shook his head and directed his eyes back to the road.

The Mayor’s house was, indeed, empty. They had parked just down the road, not wanting to bring attention to Billy’s rather easy to spot car while they were inside the house. All of the light were off, the only source of light being the rather ugly Christmas lights wrapped snugly around the hideous stone lions at the entrance. Billy and Steve walked slowly up the bricked path, Billy staring around in awe at the perfectly trimmed hedges – they _had_ to be fake, no way they could be green in Winter – and massive pillars surrounding the front entrance.

“I feel like I live in a fucking _squalor_ ,” Billy said honestly as they reached the front door. Steve laughed, shaking his head.

“And you don't feel that way at my house?”

“What do you mean?”

“Same size,” Steve looked up and gestured. “Just got more of a woodsy, cottage aura, you know? Actually, I think mine could even be _bigger_ than this place. I’m pretty sure this only has four bathrooms – we have five.”

Billy’s mouth fell open. “I _do_ live in a fucking squalor!” He exclaimed, making Steve laugh again.

“I honestly don't know how you didn't notice it, man, just because we don't have fake hedges...”

They reached the front door and Billy drowned out Steve’s ranting about the fake hedges to pull a paperclip out of his pocket. He had been taught to pick a lock when he was fifteen, by a boy who was deathly interested in becoming a magician. He had also been taught card tricks and plenty of versions of the disappearing coin, but since growing up a little, the one he used mostly was lock picking. He actually taught Max how to do it, back when she got accidentally locked in the house by her dad when he went out, thinking Max had gone home hours beforehand.

The door swung open after a few moments, causing Steve to let out a surprised and pleased gasp. “Cool,” He breathed. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

_Dark brown eyes._ “Picked up a couple tricks in Cali,” He gestured towards the doorway. “Ladies first.”

The entrance to Mayor Kline’s house was both charming and fucking terrifying at the same time. Billy scuffed his feet over the marble floor and nudged the zebra rug, looking around as he did so. His feet skidded against the expensive tiles as he walked over the floor, Steve following closely behind, his hand gripping Billy’s sleeve tightly. “I don't know how they can live here,” Steve said honestly. “I’d fall over all the damn time.”

“Be great for an ice skating rink, though,” Billy replied, flashing his pearly white teeth back at Steve as they entered a kitchen with bright blue cabinets and a green island in the middle. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Really?” He scoffed. “That bench with those cabinets? Mm, girl.”

Steve burst out laughing, clapping Billy on the shoulder as he moved around to get past, digging through the fridge. Billy chuckled, turning away, and spotted an alcohol cabinet. He could feel the thickness of the glass when he ran his hand over it. “Yo, Harrington, get your ass over here.”

“What?” Steve turned around, his speech muffled by the giant red apple he had in his mouth. The apple fell when he spotted the cabinet as well, instantly widening into a grin. “This shit is even better than _mine_.”

Billy grabbed his paperclip again, getting the cabinet open within a minute. He slid open the door, instantly reaching out to grab two bottles, holding them up once they were in his grasp. “Pick your poison, babe.”

“Port,” Steve snatched a long blue bottle out and studying the label. He then proceeded to open it and take a long sip. “Not a fan of malt.”

Billy liked anything if it could get him drunk. He shrugged, breaking the seal and taking a large gulp. “Whatever you say, princess.”

For about half an hour, they both sat there in the kitchen eating food and taking long chugs of their chosen drinks. Within thirty-five minutes, they were tipsy, giggling their asses off as they exchanged sloppy kisses on the kitchen floor of the house they had broken into. Steve’s hands went wandering – Billy got distracted and nudged him away, realising he had a whole upper part of the house to explore. Steve followed behind, swaying and spilling his fancy Port on the pink carpet when he stumbled.

“Pretty,” Billy slurred after attempting to climb the stairs on all fours for ten whole minutes. He had fallen down twice, which had made Steve fall as well, which caused them both to tumble down and land at the bottom of the staircase before attempting to get up again. Most of his drink was gone by this point, yet he had only managed to drink about one quarter. Half had spilled out while he was climbing up the stairs, or he’d missed his mouth when Steve had wanted to kiss him. Now, only a quarter of his drink remained.

But now, finally at the top of the staircase, Billy found himself mesmerised by the twinkling chandelier. “Look, Stevie, it sparkles! Like.. Like you... Your eyes!” He turned suddenly and surprised Steve, who nearly fell down the staircase again only to save himself by grabbing the polished railing. “But only when you’re happy, babe,” He pinched Steve’s pink-flushed cheeks. “When you’re not happy, babe, your eyes are all dead… Dead, dead, dead, Stevie.. It makes me sad. But when you are happy, your eyes sparkle like a chandelier! Brighter! Shinier! Whats the word?” He threw his arms up into the air. “ _Glitter_!”

Steve laughed, tossing his arm around Billy’s shoulders to steady himself. “Ocean, ocean, ocean eyes,” He mumbled. “Sea eyes. Hey, that’s funny! You use your eyes to see, and their like a sea!” The two of them exploded into laughter, only quietening to kiss each other messily.

They entered what they assumed was the Mayor’s bedroom, since it was complete with a forty-five inch TV and extravagant bed, at least three times the size of Billy’s own bed. At the end of the room was a large safe, built into the wall, with a dial combination for a lock. Billy ignored the safe, uninterested in whatever Mayor Kline kept in there, and instead began to dig through the desk draws while Steve began to bang all the keys on the piano.

“Weed!” Billy exclaimed in delight as he pulled out a plastic bag with marijuana packed to the top. Steve let out a whoop of excitement, abandoning the piano and bounding towards the blonde, already holding a lighter up.

Once stoned, they snooped through the Mayor’s shit a little more, the only interesting things being a lacy pink pair of underwear that wasn't his wife’s size, and several letters from the public about selling property. “Pfft,” Steve huffed. “ _Boring_. Come on, lets do something more fun. You wanted a drag show, right?” He glanced at the walk in wardrobe with a cheeky grin.

“No way,” Billy dropped the letters and underwear, raising his eyebrows. “No _way_.”

“Dare ya,” Steve replied, his eyes sparkling.

And fuck, Billy Hargrove could never refuse a dare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that Billy calls Steve "babe" without even thinking about it, despite the fact they're not officially dating yet. I think that it would just be something that slips out, and he doesn't even notice.   
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	12. You Look Gay!

It turned out Mayor Larry Kline and his wife, Winnie, had separate wardrobes. So while Steve dug through expensive suits and shirts (nothing he wasn't used to), Billy found himself staring up at hundreds upon hundreds of flowered blouses. “Fucker,” He whispered, unable to stop grinning as he ran his finger over the soft materials. He took a large gulp of whiskey and shrugged his coat off, deciding it was too hot anyway.

Billy chose a frilly blouse with pink cherry blossoms, allowing it to stretch tightly over his chest as he swapped his three necklaces (leaving the one his mother gave him on) out for a tacky purple feathered boa. After that, he grabbed a pair of black sunglasses and slid them onto his face, admiring himself in the mirror as he did so. “Yo, Steve!” He shouted, toeing off his boots. “I look fucking _hot_ , man!” He grabbed a tube of bright red lipstick off the floor and applied it.

“I look like a princess!” Steve shouted back, putting on a British accent. Billy laughed, stumbled, then caught himself on the mirror.

“Me too!”

“Reveal in three?”

Billy hurriedly slipped on a pair of bright red high heels, socks and all, and nodded. Once remembering Steve couldn't actually see him, he shouted, “Yes!” and listened as it echoed through the house.

“ _Three, two, one_!”

Billy opened the door, took two steps out, and fell over. Steve rushed to his side, giggling loudly, and pulled him up. “Whoa,” He said when he saw Billy, the giggling ceasing to exist. “You look so _gay_!”

“ _You_ look gay!” Billy protested loudly, taking in Steve’s outfit. The older boy had swapped his suit for a single fancy white shirt, putting a black bra he had seemingly found over the top, which made Billy laughed. His dress pants were replaced with baggy gym shorts, looking ridiculous with the shirt. Finally, he had on grey heels, much smaller than Billy’s (he was pretty sure his bright red ones were at _least_ six inches high), probably left over from the woman Kline appeared to be having an affair with. Steve looked like he had stumbled upon the items of clothing in the cupboard and, upon finding them interesting, tossed them over his body without a second thought. He also, infuriatingly, looked annoyingly good.

Steve helped the blonde up, trying desperately to unruffle him. “Cant have you looking bad in front of our fans,” He said in a posh voice, making Billy giggle. “Our audience awaits.”

“Audience?” Billy questioned, a small grin on his face. Steve turned and gestured to the numerous paintings and photographs hung behind the desk. Billy dissolved into laughter, deeply bowing towards the pictures. “Oh my! So sorry! D-do forgive, sirs – and ladies!”

“They rate you a three out of ten,” Steve replied, monotone before they both erupted into laughter again.

The sound of movement downstairs silenced them instantly. Billy pressed his finger to his lips and peeked out the door, eyes wide. He saw nothing but an empty, dark hallway. Behind him, he could feel Steve tense, pressed up against him.

The sound continued, growing closer to the stairs. It sounded like the clicking of claws against the marble – the pair sucked in a breath as they heard it walking up the staircase. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be human. Billy didn't know what to think.

“Grab me a weapon!” Billy hissed. Steve disappeared for a moment before returning, solemnly pressing the lacy underwear into Billy’s open hand. Billy dissolved into laughter for a second before a small shadow appeared in the darkness and he thrust the underwear seriously at the shadow. “Who’s there?!” He shouted. “I don't own this house, but I will fucking sue for breaking and entering!”

“We’d lose the fucking case!” Steve squawked.

A small, ginger and white corgi appeared at the front of the door, its tongue hanging stupidly out of its mouth. “What the fuck,” Billy mumbled, after a beat of silence. “How long has this dumb shit been here?”

“Aw, cute!” Steve exclaimed. “I forgot about Prince! He’s their corgi. He’s outside mostly, like, doesn't even come when someone’s breaking and entering, as you can see, but he does come if he gets cold.”

“Prince is a dumb name,” Billy picked the dog up, ignoring its squirming. “I’m going to name you Macaroni.”

They laughed as hard as they could, the melody bouncing off the walls.

After a few more minutes, Billy had processed the thought of a dog and had allowed it to walk around the floor, sniffing their clothes. He made out with Steve on the bed for a bit, porn playing in the background, before it happened.

Another sound, this time the murmur of voices and jangling of keys. The boys stopped, their eyes wide, and stared at each other. “I thought he wasn't going to be back for like, two days!” Billy hissed.

“He wasn't!” Steve whispered back. “I think its someone else. I think it might be his wife!”

“Fuck!” Billy shoved the older boy off him and jumped up, quietly gathering all of his items as quickly as possible and switching the TV off. He crept towards the door, much like he had when he heard the door, and peeked. It appeared that the wife had arrived home, and had brought a friend with her. They were both drunk, drunker than Billy and Steve, which was saying something. Billy could tell they were absolutely wasted by the thumps that echoed around the house, and the loud shouts followed by “ _Shh_!”

“We should go, anyway,” Steve murmured in his ear, wrapping his arms around Billy’s waist from behind. “It _is_ nearly four in the morning.”

“How the fuck are we gonna get out,” Billy squirmed at Steve’s touch, wondering if he had turned the kitchen light off when they had headed upstairs. Hopefully, they were too drunk to notice, just like they were hopefully too drunk to notice the mess he and the other boy had made. “Oh shit!” He whispered harshly as they headed up the stairs. “They’re coming this way!”

Steve grabbed Billy’s arm, dragging him into the walk in wardrobe and shutting the door with a quiet click. Seconds later, the couple entered, falling onto the bed with a loud squeak.

“F-f-f!” The man slurred loudly. Kline’s wife responded with a similar noise.

When Billy turned to look at Steve, his brown eyes were wide. He had the exact same thought as Billy. _Oh fuck! They’re gonna screw!_

They were stuck in the cupboard for a good hour, attempting to drown out the moans by playing Paper Scissors Rock repetitively. After a while, it seemed that the two of them had gone to sleep, judging by their snoring, and it was safe to attempt to escape.

Billy crept past, his clothes gathered underneath his arm, the flowered blouse he was wearing rustling with every movement. Steve was close behind him, attempting to walk quietly but causing the two of them to freeze in their tracks when he bumped into the piano and swore loudly. The couple stirred, but neither of them awoke.

They couldn't _not_ grab another bottle of jack as they passed the alcohol cabinet, but beside from that, they left the house without any detours to find more of the weed hidden around the home.

The moment they were outside, they _ran_.

<><><><>

Billy awoke with a grunt, the sun in his eyes, a heavy weight on his chest. He looked down, only to find familiar brown hair tickling his nose, threatening to make him sneeze. He could hear Max in the lounge, thumping around which was scary on its own, but he couldn't find it in himself to push Steve off him and get up to take away whatever she was using. Instead, he squinted at the bright light and let out a loud groan.

_Fuck_ , he was hungover.

“Steve, babe,” He said, prodding the older boy in the side. “If you don't get up, I’m going to puke on you. I _swear_.”

“Ah, shit,” The muffled voice answered, rolling off of Billy to let him free. Billy got up as quickly and as carefully as possible, grabbing a trashcan and emptying his guts into it. A hand grasped his hair and his heart skipped a beat, but then he realised it was just Steve, gathering his hair into a ponytail to save him from getting any vomit in it. “There, there,” Steve said groggily, sounding just as shitty as Billy felt. “You’re hungover, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah,” Billy growled between retches. “No shit, Harrington! How the fuck are you not?”

“I didn't mix my liquors,” Steve said smugly, patting Billy’s hair in a way that was supposed to be calming. Billy had flashback to the night before, mixing vodka with whiskey in a shot glass and then deciding to drink it. He groaned. “Come on, up,” Steve patted the boy’s back, making him hurl again. “Goddamn, Billy, who would have thought _I’d_ be the one holding your hair back when you’re hungover?”

“Shut up,” Billy grumbled when he was sure he finished, sitting up slowly and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He held up the purple feather boa once his mouth had no visible chunks of vomit in it. “Why am I dressed as a rich lady?” He looked down at Steve, tugging off the scarf. “Why are you wearing a bra?”

Steve unclipped the bra, tossing it to the ground casually. “Once I get some coffee in my system,” He pressed his hand to his temple and whined. “I might be able to answer that.”

Max had attempted to make some sort of breakfast mix when they got up. Billy wanted to puke again when he saw the mix of bacon, eggs, and fruit loops mashed up into a large bowl, but instead attempted to ignore her and picked up one of the steaming cups of coffee that were already at the table. “You’ve got lipstick all over your face,” Max pointed out, annoyingly cheerful. Billy glared at her over his mug of coffee, but she just smirked and continued her chatter. “Why are you wearing a blouse? Isn’t that a girls shirt? How does it even fit? You guys came home really early this morning. How was your night? Did you go to a club or something?”

“Shut up, Max,” Billy grumbled, ignoring every single one of her questions. Beside him, he could see Steve mouthing _“I’ll tell you later.”_

_No he fucking would not._ Billy kicked both of them underneath the table, resulting in curses and moving away from him to rub their bruised ankles. “Your brother is an asshole,” Steve whispered to the redhead, as if Billy couldn't hear every word. She mouthed back, joining his act.

“I know. He’s terrible.”

The blonde flipped them both off and took a large gulp of his boiling hot coffee, appreciating the burn as it slid easily down his throat.

After three cups of coffee, the memories began to come back to him. He remembered falling over in red high heels, and snooping through the Mayor’s shit to find he was having an affair, but the rest just blurred together, like he was passing by in a train, trying to grasp at the memories. He knew he needed just a prod to recall the wild night, but for the moment, he decided racking his brains was too hard and he needed to go back to sleep. Despite the fact it was one in the afternoon.

Billy slept for the rest of the day, clearly having a much worse hangover than Steve, because the older boy sat out in the lounge room with Max watching _Inspector Gadget_ and _He-Man_. By the time he finally got up, the sun was beginning to set and his pounding headache was reduced to a small throb that could easily be fixed with painkillers. Steve was gone, Max said he had said to tell Billy to think about Macaroni the corgi. It turned out to be the nudge Billy needed to remember the night – he retired back to bed, humiliated he had acted so stupidly.

Steve called the next day, though. Asked how he was doing. Before he knew it, Billy had been on the phone with Steve for three hours. He didn't even want to _think_ about the phone bill.

It occurred to him, a week later during gym class, that it had been a long while since he thought about his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Billy Hargrove, guys. Drunk/high Billy Hargrove. I just. I just wanted to write some funny fluff. Let me live y'all


	13. The Body In The Lake

As the days grew longer and the weather warmer, Billy found himself spending most of his time by Steve’s side. Often, they were joined by the kids. Him and Sinclair – _Lucas_ – formed a friendship of sorts, which included swapping books and talking about the other two. He thought Dustin was annoying, but nowhere near as annoying as Mike. Billy was sometimes tempted to turn back to his old ways just so he could beat up the kid without feeling bad. Then there was Will, a small boy who Billy was begrudgingly very protective of. The others often hurried ahead of him while Will hung back, so Billy would distract him by starting small talk. He often heard of a girl called El, who Steve said was the girl experiments had been performed on, but he had yet to meet Mike’s girlfriend. Whenever he was around and the subject of her was brought up, however, Mike quickly shushed them all and glared at Billy.

He wasn't sure how to classify his relationship with Steve. They made out a lot, when the kids weren't around, and yeah, they had even had sex once or twice. But he had no idea where Steve stood with him, whether he thought of him as just a friend or of a partner. Billy knew that _he_ wanted to date Steve, more than anything. Steve, though, was born and raised in Hawkins, Indiana. A homophobic little town. He might have been fine with getting his dick wet with a boy, but dating one? That was pretty faggy, no way Steve would ever agree.

So Billy kept his feelings hidden. He often admitted he liked Steve, as Steve often told Billy he liked him. But he could have obviously just meant as a friend, or a fuck buddy. No way he shared the feelings for Billy that Billy had for him. Steve didn't lie awake in bed, listening to the other boy breathe after a long night, and whisper the three little words when he was sure he was asleep. They didn't hold hands, or go on fancy dates. They went to diners and bickered all the time, they broke into houses and graffitied the town so much Hopper called a town meeting. He wasn't Nancy Wheeler, and would never be Nancy Wheeler. He couldn't tell Steve he loved him to his face, and he was okay with that.

Susan seemed better too. She had joined a book club, and was starting to wear more brighter coloured and revealing dresses, flaunting her body as much as she wanted. Annoyingly, Billy felt proud of the woman. Remembered the time when he changed from his dark black shirts to bright red button downs and blue shirts that matched his eyes. He remembered the first time he had come out of his bedroom, dressed exactly how he had wanted to. Neil, freshly remarried to Susan, turned a blind eye. Let his leash slacken. Allowed his son to wear what he wanted, as long as it was picked out of the men's section. So watching Susan find her style in flowery skirts and skin tight tops, compared to the plain black skirts and modest frilly shirts she had always worn before was somewhat refreshing. Nice, to see his step-mother dressing up and looking _happy_ about it. Not because he particularly loved Susan – she often tried to act as his mother, and that was never going to fucking happen – but because Max was happy when her mother was happy. And Billy wanted her to be happy.

Spring in Hawkins was both a relief and a disappointment. Spring in California had been the perfect temperature, so great, in fact, that Billy had often found himself skipping class just to go for a run beside the beach and watch the crashing waves. It had smelled like hot dogs and milkshakes, like blossoms and fresh green grass.

Hawkins spring was different. It was better than the snow, of course – Billy had a newfound hatred for snow – but wasn't as pleasant as it had been back in Cali. In Hawkins, Spring just felt muggy. Like the snow had melted, but left its imprint on the town. It smelled damp, and rained a lot. Billy hated it. He fucking hated it. Bilbo, the bird Billy had given Steve, seemed to like it though.

While Billy was too distracted with the kids and Steve to notice, the thick layer of ice covering the surrounding lakes began to melt away. The frost covered ground around Lovers Lake turned from a field of white to fresh green grass. The water went from steely grey to a light, pleasant blue, before Billy and the rest of the town noticed.

He began to panic one day when he heard Tommy speaking of skipping class to take Carol to the cliff overlooking Lovers Lake, so he could fuck her in the backseat of his car. He had slammed his locker so loud that the group of Tommy’s friends that had surrounded him stopped talking to stare. “You okay, man?” Tommy asked. Billy ground his teeth, thinking of Neil’s blood covered corpse, and nodded.

“’M fucking fine,” He grumbled, throwing his backpack onto one shoulder. “Just… Have a thing. Gotta go.”

“We can come with you,” Tommy started to say, but Billy cut him off with a scowl.

“A thing that doesn't involve you,” He said sharply. The freckled boy fell silent, and nodded. Billy shoved past him and went to go find Steve.

Carol and Tommy saw the silhouette of Neil’s car in the lake.

They reported it to the police.

The knock that echoed through the Hargrove-Mayfield house that night made Billy’s blood run cold.

<><><><>

“His throat has been slit,” Hopper told them gravely, his hat hanging from his hand respectfully. “We’re opening a murder investigation. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Susan was crying, her hands covering her face as the sobs rang through Billy’s ears. Beside Susan, Max stood, comforting the older woman. Max was at least smart enough to let a few tears through, to act like she cared enough about Neil to cry. Unlike Billy. He stood, still, completely numb and horrified. He’d had a great few months, without Neil peering over his shoulder all the time. He’d fallen in love. He’d actually made real friends, even if it was with a bunch of twelve year old’s. And he was getting his shit together, admitting he’d been a bad person before and trying to change it.

But Neil, in a way, was back. His voice whispered in Billy’s head, laughing as he told Billy he was going to go to jail. _You’re going to get caught_ , Neil’s voice hissed in delight. _And you wont be able to see that Harrington fag ever again. You’re going to get caught, Billy, you’re going to get caught. Billy, Billy, you’re going to get caught. Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy--_

“--Billy! Billy! Billy, are you okay?” Max was staring up at him, lips set in a long thin line. “Are you okay?” She repeated as Billy blinked down at her. “Billy, are you okay? Say something, you’re scaring me--”

He thought about his mother. He thought about Steve leaving. He thought about dark brown eyes. His eyes filled with tears.

“My dad,” He looked up at Hopper, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Is dead? How do you know its him?”

“We’ve got a pretty good idea its him, kid,” The policeman said sadly. “Got the same outfit, was in his car and everything. The ice has kept his body reasonably together, so… We’ll just need someone to… Uh. Confirm. But don't get your hopes up… Its him. Neil Hargrove is dead.”

Susan bawled, turning and running into her bedroom, leaving Billy and Max staring up at the cop. Susan slammed the door so hard the house shook. “Dad’s dead,” Billy murmured, like he was trying to come to terms with it. Like he hadn't already accepted the fact he was a fucking murderer. “My dad was killed. You’re opening an investigation. My dad is dead.”

Hopper reached out, patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Max slipped her hand into her step-brother’s, a small sad sigh escaping her lips. “I’m sorry for your loss,” She told Billy. He looked down at her. She was a good actor.

“We have a list of suspects,” Hopper told him before he left. “But as far as I know, its not going to be me who’s handling the case. We don't get homicide in Hawkins often so… We’ve got some guys coming down from the big city. They specialise in homicide. They’ll find out who killed your father, kiddo.”

“Okay,” Billy nodded once, a small jerk of his head that barely qualified. “I...”

“My advice? Get some sleep, kid.”

Like a robot, Billy found himself obeying the policeman, leaving Max to deal with him as he entered his bedroom and closed the door with a quiet click.

Billy felt like he had been startled out of a dream. The world without Neil had been a pretty lie, the world with the monster was the ugly truth. Because Billy knew he could never escape Neil. Had been reminded, every single time he’d tried to run away at the age of fourteen. _“You’ll always come back. Faggot like you? Wont survive a fucking_ day _in the real world.”_ Neil was a disease, and infection, some sort of parasite that clung to Billy even when he thought he had gotten rid of him. _Especially_ when he thought he had gotten rid of him.

He felt too heavy. As if his father was holding onto his neck, dragging him down onto the floor. And he found himself obeying, letting himself fall and shuffle back until his back was pressed against the wall. Ringing was echoing in his ears, so loudly he thought they might bleed. It was just him in the cold, empty house.

Him and slow footsteps approaching down the hallway. He paused, blinking once, twice, and finding himself on the floor of his old bedroom. The footsteps were still approaching, yet he could see himself, a younger version, staying on the bed, another boy beside him. He stared. Was that really him? And was that…

“ _Billy_!” Neil roared from the hallway. Billy watched as his younger self froze, pulling away from the other boy. “ _You didn't clean the fucking dishes_! _Get out here_!”

“ _Shit_ ,” Younger Billy muttered, panic visible in his eyes.

“Is-- Is your dad going to--” The other boy stammered, eyes wide. Younger Billy shook his head quickly, jumping off the bed and pulling on a black shirt.

“Not if you go.”

“If he’s going to hurt you then I’m--”

“Tyler,” Younger Billy whispered. Billy found himself mouthing along to the words, tears stinging at his eyes as he watched the scene play out in front of him. “Tyler, _please_. Just _go_. Use the fire escape. I’ll--” Younger Billy jolted as there was a loud knock at the bedroom door.

“ _Billy_!”

“I’ll meet you at the arcade, okay? Just _go_ ,”Younger Billy hurriedly said to Tyler, who’s dark eyes were full of concern. Billy pushed himself up, letting the tears fall as his hand went through the younger version of himself and the other boy.

“Who were you talking to?” Neil growled when he entered the bedroom.

The scene changed. Billy found himself inside the arcade, amongst a group of blurry-faced people. Younger him was a few steps ahead, one eye swollen purple but still grinning as he cheered on the dark skinned boy named Tyler. “You’re nearly at a _million_ , Ty, who knew you were such a fucking _nerd_?!”

“Shut up!” Tyler laughed, shoving younger Billy to the side with his foot and continuing to press the buttons on the arcade game. Billy found himself smiling, tears still pouring out of his eyes as he stared at the two of them. He remembered the day, clearer than anything else in the world. He remembered having fun… And he also remembered how it turned out.

“ _Fuck_!” Tyler and younger Billy groaned in unison as the screen went black. Billy laughed, holding his hand to his mouth. Back then, they had thought losing the game had been such a big deal. If only they knew what was to come.

On cue, Neil entered.

Billy watched as the younger version of himself went completely pale, trying to grab Tyler’s hand to escape through the back entrance. He didn't want to follow them, knew that Neil’s friends were waiting out the back of the arcade, waiting to beat the queer out of the two boys.

He didn't want to follow, but his feet dragged him through the faceless people and out the back door, where younger Billy was pressed up against a dumpster, shouting at his father’s friends to let Tyler go. Words were shouted. Fists were thrown. Billy couldn't bear to watch, and neither could younger Billy. All he knew was that when he was finally let go, he ran towards Tyler to inspect the damage.

“ _I’m so sorry_ ,” Younger Billy whimpered, cupping Tyler’s face in his hands as the boy bled out. “ _Baby, I’m so fucking sorry._ _I love you so much, you cant die on me._ _Tyler, don't you close your eyes_ ,” He shook the boy. Billy watched the scene play out, lips parted, tears streaming down his face. “ _Tyler, don't you close your fucking eyes._ Hey! Hey, somebody call a fucking ambulance _! Tyler, Tyler, come on, please, please Tyler, please_.”

Tyler’s eyes had turned empty. Later, they told him all of his ribs had been broken. That he’d died of internal bleeding and a piece of his own skull piercing his brain. Younger Billy cried.

It was the first and last time he cried in a public place.

The moment Billy was back in his bedroom, he started to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I had writers block when writing the flashback scene.


	14. Some Sort Of Sun Spirit

Billy’s throat was hoarse by the time the door exploded open and Steve Harrington entered, his eyes wide with worry. He threw himself onto the floor beside Billy and cupped the blonde’s face. “Hey, hey, hey,” Steve soothed, running his hands along Billy’s jawline. “Shh. Please stop screaming.”

Billy turned his head away and covered his face with his hands, closing his mouth as he did so. His shoulders shook with sorrow as he sobbed, tense and scared, pressed up against the wall of his bedroom. “I killed him, Steve,” He sobbed. “I’m a murderer.”

“Shh,” The other boy shushed him quickly, closing the door with his foot. “No, Billy, we’ve talked about this, remember? You didn't mean to kill Neil, it was self-defence--”

“Not dad,” Billy shook his head and looked up, tears pooled in his eyes. “Not just him. I-- I… Tyler.”

Just the mention of the name caused Billy’s heart to skip a beat. He kept speaking, even though it felt like glass was piercing his throat at every word. “I loved him… Fuck, Steve, I really fucking loved him. But-- But-- But my dad found out. And I stood there and I watched,” He sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I kept telling myself that it was because I was being held back. B-but, if I had just punched one of them, I could have got to him. I could have saved him. I just didn't want to get hurt. And he died, Steve,” Billy turned and punched a wall, the familiar sting on his knuckle more satisfying than any drug. “He fucking _died_! Because of _me_! All because I didn't want to get hurt again, I just stood there and watched as they fucking kicked his head in and fucking broke his ribs! He died of internal bleeding and brain injury. All because I didn't want to be hit again.”

Steve was silent. He reached up, hesitantly touching Billy’s cheek and tilting his head. Billy leaned into the touch, his shoulders still shaking and his chest rising up and down unevenly.

“I’ve already killed two people,” Billy whispered. “Not in self defence. Just… Just in cold blood. And I was-- And I was going to k-kill you. That night, at the Byers. I was so fucking mad and you were there and I nearly fucking killed you because you tried to stop me from hurting a _kid_!” He pushed Steve’s hand away, ignoring the look of concern the other boy had. “I’m just like my dad,” He said quietly. “I’m just like him.”

“No you’re _not_ ,” Steve insisted. “This guys death – Tyler’s – it wasn't your fault. You couldn't do anything. Either he died or you both would have. There was nothing you could do.”

“I could have--”

“ _No_ ,” Steve snapped. “Stop blaming yourself for his death. And stop acting like Neil wasn't a monster. Your dad found out that you were happy and in love, so he killed that person. Neil deserved to die. And he definitely deserved to die at your hands.”

Billy stared at him, then looked away. “Okay,” He murmured, even though he didn't really believe it himself. “Okay.”

“Come on, babe,” Steve pushed himself up and dusted himself off, then held his hand out to the other boy. “Alright, get up. Lets go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

Even though Steve was speaking to him like he was fragile and weak, Billy found himself allowing help up and crawling into bed with Steve behind him. He yawned, showing all of his teeth, and tucked his chin over Steve’s shoulder. “How did you get here so fast?” Billy questioned quietly.

“You were screaming on the floor, so Max called me. I was up anyway, couldn't sleep. So I drove over as fast as I could,” Steve answered, rubbing comforting circles on Billy’s back with his thumb. “I was worried about you.”

Billy considered this answer, then nodded. He pressed his head against Steve’s neck, smiling a little as Steve brushed Billy’s blonde hair out of the way so he wouldn't sneeze. His smile dropped. “I think I might be a bad person,” He whispered into Steve’s neck. The circles stopped, then started again.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “I think I might be a bad person too.”

<><><><>

Neil’s body was the talk of the town. It had barely been three months since Barbra Holland’s cause of death was revealed, and already a new case had popped up. Some questioned if the town was cursed. Others wondered if it was not the town, but the people inside it that were jinxed.

Billy had to do the shopping while Susan went out to ID the body. He didn't feel like he was up to it. Everything felt too heavy, and he was in a constant paranoid state, but he agreed nevertheless and drove downtown to the supermarket. There, he collected the bags and was putting them into the back of his camaro when a sleek black car rolled past, the windows tinted so dark Billy couldn't see in. But he knew instantly who the people inside the car were. The agents Hopper had told him about, the ones who specialised in homicide.

When he got home, the black car was parked in front of his house, blocking the driveway. He ground his teeth together and piled all the shopping bags onto one arm, stomping up the driveway. He opened the door with his foot and dumped the bags on the kitchen bench.

Two men were sitting on the couch next to Susan and Max, dressed neatly in a black business suits. Billy felt his heart drop when he met eyes with one of them, dark brown clashing against Billy’s brilliant blue.

It had been a while since he had seen that man. “Mr Waters,” Billy greeted weakly. “What are you doing here?”

Mr Waters crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “William Hargrove,” He said, his voice hissing like a snake. “I must say, I was hoping when the name Hargrove came up in my files that it wouldn't be you. That I wouldn't have to see your face again. Yet here you stand, clear as the day. When was the last time we saw each other?”

Billy swallowed, closing his eyes. He remembered the coffin being lowered into the ground, and then a hand around his throat. _“You killed him!” A voice roared. “You killed my son!”_

“Tyler’s funeral,” Billy answered.

Tyler’s father nodded and looked away.

Billy understood grief did bad things to people. When his mother died, he beat up three people in one day, two of them being four years younger than him. He was angry, angry at the world. Angry at God for letting his mother die. Angry at Neil for not letting him say his last words.

When Tyler died, Billy had been just as mad. He shoved Max around and went out to parties to get drunk. He did cocaine in the school bathroom to forget about the empty dark eyes. He did dumb shit and he didn't try to stop himself.

Mr Henry Waters had been mad too. But he hadn't done drugs to forget – he had angrily tried to avenge his son’s death by getting someone thrown in jail. They had already been to court over it, and Billy had been found not guilty. But Mr Waters was insistent that Billy had been the one who did it, and would do anything to prove he was right. He followed Billy home from school in a run-down old ute, and took photos of him doing anything that was even slightly against the rules. Twice, police were called to his house for no reason, and he was taken into questioning about a crime he had an alibi for. Eventually, Mr Waters had stopped harassing him, but only when Billy had been dragged out to Indiana by his family and it was too far to travel just to stalk him.

Having Mr Waters in town and on Billy’s case was bad news. He knew Mr Waters wanted him in jail, knew that he would stop at nothing to get the boy behind bars. With a murder case and Billy’s know history with the victim, he also knew that the odds were piled against him.

Yet he found himself refusing to panic. He simply nodded and began to unpack the shopping, listening as they spoke about the last time Neil had been seen. Could they point Neil’s murder towards him? He hadn't left much evidence, and the pocket knife he’d used had already been replaced with an identical one, except with a different blade. The murder weapon was abandoned at the bottom of the lake, the fingerprints having been washed away, and an alibi already sorted. He was at Steve’s that night. They had been drinking beer and listening to music. Was there anything they could do to prove Billy had been the murderer?

“We’re going to find who killed your husband,” The unnamed detective was saying when Billy snapped his head back into the conversation. “And we will make them pay.”

Billy could finally relax when the door was shut behind them.

Three hours later, he walked out of the police office after questioning. He wanted to whoop and do a back flip. Wanted to drive to Steve Harrington’s house and kiss him senseless. Wanted to eat an entire tub of ice cream mixed with vodka. Instead, he calmly walked to his car and saved his celebration for the empty road on the way home.

Being questioned by the agents had gone great. Mr Waters being there hadn't made things good to start with (since the moment Billy walked into the room Mr Waters slammed his fists on the table and screamed in Billy’s face), but the other man who Billy discovered was called Pablo managed to calm him down. They went out of the room for a brief moment before returning, and got back to questioning Billy as if they whole ordeal hadn't just happened.

Billy had an alibi for the entire night. Having Steve Harrington as an accomplice had its perks; one of those being his natural lying, and another being the son of a respected man earning him submission from most people. Steve was in the waiting room when Billy had exited. He had thrown Billy a wink and stood up when his name was called.

Now safe and sound in his car, driving along the bumpy roads and avoiding potholes, he was headed to Steve’s house. Nobody was home, of course, but Billy was bored. He picked the lock on the front doors and entered, dumping his shoes on the coffee table as he passed. The weather was slightly hot, with strong gusts of wind that blew his hair back when he opened the sliding door, but the pool was tempting and Billy couldn't resist temptation.

He stripped off his shirt and jeans, shivering at the cold for a brief moment before lowering himself into the body of water. It rippled against his skin, feeling amazing on his sore muscles despite the fact the water was cold. He let out a groan and tipped his head back, jolting as the water flowed through his blonde curls and flooded slightly onto his forehead.

If Billy closed his eyes, he could imagine himself back in California. The sun was beating down on on his face and raised chest, warming him with a comforting burn that he hadn't felt in a while. If he _really_ blocked his senses out, he could pretend the small ripples were waves, that the smell of chlorine was salt. He pretended the ringing in his ears was the laughter of children running past. The sheen of orange behind his eyelids could be the Californian sun, shining down on him with more power than it did in Bum Fuck, Indiana.

Maybe the stillness of the water could be that Billy was very far out in the ocean, waiting for a wave and receiving nothing but small ripples. Maybe the chlorine was just some strange sort of cleaner he had put on his surfboard, that was floating beside him. It was a stretch, but the best Billy could do.

He stayed in the water until he heard the sliding door opening. He opened one eye and peered up at Steve with a raised eyebrow. “What are you looking at, pretty boy?”

“You,” Steve answered, with a small grin on his face. “You’re in my pool. I’m allowed to stare if I want.”

“Nothing much to stare at,” Billy swam towards the edge of the pool and patted his chest. “Tan’s basically gone now. Fucking sucks.”

“You’re still golden,” Steve answered, sitting down beside him to run one finger across Billy’s chest. “You still stick out. Everyone who comes to the town sees you and thinks you’re a tourist or something. All painted golden, like you’re some sort of sun spirit,” Steve laughed as Billy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I’m serious! You’re so fucking pretty, you look like you’re a fairy or something.”

“Not a fucking fairy,” Billy grumbled. “And you know that’s another bad word for fags like me, right?”

“Okay, okay,” The other boy stroked Billy’s chin. “Not like that, okay? I mean like an actual fairy. We’ve just gotta give you a pair of wings and then you’ll float away to the sun.”

“Are you high?” The blonde questioned, leaning his elbows on Steve’s knees and staring up at him with blue eyes. “Because you’re saying a lot of dumb shit, man.”

Steve laughed again. “Yeah, I’m definitely high. I had to pick Will up from his dentists appointment and Jonathan was smoking weed in his room. I was talking with him for a while. I probably inhaled some smoke. Jealous?”

“Hell yeah.”

They both chuckled, then fell silent, listening to soft splashes as Billy tread water to stay afloat. Steve tucked a stray curl behind Billy’s ear and smiled down at him. “You looked pretty content out here. What were you thinking about?”

Billy chewed the inside of his cheek and stared up at the older boy. “None ya,” He answered. “What were _you_ thinking about?”

“None ya,” Steve replied.

<><><><>

When Billy entered the house, his clothes bunched under his arm, the first thing he noticed was that Bilbo had been moved to the living room when he was in the pool. The little budgie flapped around its cage, tweeting, throwing its food everywhere. Billy scowled at it as he passed. “Eat your food, you fussy bitch,” He told it. Bilbo hopped into its water bowl and began to bathe itself.

Bilbo looked healthier since Billy had given it to Steve. Its feathers had a sheen, its feet no longer scabbed but smooth and soft looking. Steve was very attached to the little fucker; sometimes he would take it out of its cage and let it hop around on the couch when he was watching TV. Billy hated when that happened, figured it was only a matter of time before the fucker took a shit. But since he wasn't the one who had to clean up after it, he didn't protest and instead would focus on ignoring the bird, even as it nibbled at his jeans.

Billy headed into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he took off his boxers and tossed them into the basket. He dressed himself, taking his time and smoking a cigarette as he did so, then dried his hair with a fluffy white towel. It was frizzed up when he looked in the mirror, so he grabbed a hairbrush and tugged the knots out. Once it was tied up into a loose bun, Billy stared around the bathroom, studying everything he noticed. A pile of magazines sat by the toilet seat. He raised his eyebrows and sorted through them only to find that they had never been opened and instead sat neatly in their protective plastic covers. He rolled his eyes.

Steve was smoking a cigarette with a beer in his hand when Billy found him. The other boy was sitting on the floor next to birdcage, whistling at Bilbo whenever he blew smoke out of his mouth like a dragon. More often than not, the budgie would whistle back, not mimicking Steve but singing its own little tuneless song. The TV was on, but static was covering the screen.

“Hey,” Billy said, flopping onto the couch and grabbing a beer off the coffee table. He opened the bottle with his teeth and kicked his feet up, watching Steve as he did so.

“Hey,” Steve answered cheerfully, glancing back at Billy once. He smiled up at the blonde, then turned back to Bilbo and continued to whistle.

Billy scoffed and stood up, messing up Steve’s hair as he passed, ignoring the other boys complaints. “Lets put on some real music, huh? What you got?”

When Billy pressed a button on the boombox that sat upon the floor next to the unused fireplace, Bonnie Tyler blasted out of the speakers. He jolted back, the loud sound making him jump. Eyes wide, he looked over at Steve and raised his eyebrows. “Once upon a time you were falling in love, huh? Now you’re only falling apart. Aw, so sad, babe.”

“I like what I like,” Steve protested, pushing himself up off the floor and attempting to turn the boombox off. Billy stopped him by grabbing his waist and spinning him around.

“Hey, no, come on. Leave it on, its one of the better mainstream songs.”

“I thought you only liked people screaming,” Steve quipped, holding Billy’s hands and directing them up to his shoulders. Billy locked them around his neck and pressed their chests together.

“I like what I like,” The blonde boy replied teasingly.

Bonnie Tyler’s singing filled the room as silence fell between the two boys. They stared at each other, unsure what to do, until Steve spoke again. “I think I might be in love with you,” He blurted out. “I’ve never been in love with a boy. Is that okay?”

Billy tugged away from Steve, the words repeating over and over in his head. _I think I might be in love with you. I think I might be in love with you. I think I might be in love with you._

“ _Faggot,”_ Neil’s voice hissed in his ear. He closed his eyes and scrunched his shirt up in his fist. Remembered the last time someone had said that word to him. That one, tiny little word. _Love._

Love was destructive. It was scary and dangerous. It broke everyone and everything, caused fights and even death. Love was the one thing Billy had been trying to avoid since Tyler, since the young boy had laid in his arms, gasping for breath. Love was one of the many things that were hissed into Billy’s ear like both a curse and a dirty little secret.

He knew he loved Steve, but he didn't know if he was allowed to. Did Steve even really love him? They couldn't do the things that Steve had done with Nancy. Couldn't hold hands and kiss in the school hallways. Couldn't go to prom together. Couldn't get married and live a normal life. All they could do was hide, together.

“Billy?” Steve’s voice broke through Billy’s thoughts. The other boy’s voice sounded sad, scared, as if he expected Billy to laugh in his face. But maybe that would be easier than admitting it.

“I don't know if its okay,” Billy choked out, digging his nails into his arms to stop the tears filling his eyes. “I just… I don't know.”

“You’ve been telling me it for months!” Steve shouted. He grabbed Billy’s shoulders and spun him around, shaking him. “You can’t do that to me! Can’t say it every single night when you think I’m asleep, can’t say all these sweet things to me and make me fall in love with you! _You don't have the right to that to me, Billy Hargrove. I am a fucking person, not a_ toy!”

“I’m not Nancy!” Billy shoved Steve away from him, letting a few tears slide down his cheeks. “I said that shit to you because I _thought_ you were asleep! I thought you would never hear. Because I’m not Nancy, Steve. I’m Billy Hargrove. I’m a fuck up, a murderer, a queer, a faggot, and a _boy_. You can’t be in love with me!”

“ _But I am_!” Steve screamed. He turned and kicked the couch, then swore and grabbed his foot. “Fucks sake, Billy. For fucks sake. I’m in love with you, I love you, and I’m fucking _sorry_.”

Billy wanted to punch the fancy cream walls. Wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss the other boy or leave him sobbing on the floor. He just wanted things to be easy, for once. But life wasn't like that, _love_ wasn't like that. It wasn't easy. It was hard. And it would always be hard.

“I fucking love you too,” Billy whispered. He reached out and tugged Steve’s sweater sleeve, avoiding his dark brown eyes. “I hate that I do but I can’t change it. I love you too.”

Steve laughed. He had tears rolling down his cheeks when Billy looked up, but he was smiling. “Holy shit, Billy. We’re in love.”

“We’re in love,” Billy agreed.

“We’re boyfriends.”

“Yeah,” The blonde smiled and nodded. “Yeah, we’re boyfriends. We’re boyfriends, and we’re in love. We’re in fucking love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so first of all. The sun spirit thing. I've been wanting to write a fantasy story for ages now, so thats why thats there. And the end? I tried to write fluff, guys, I fucking TRIED


	15. We Can Rent A Shitty Apartment

It was the third time Billy had been bought in for questioning when Mr Waters finally made the mistake of bringing up Tyler. Billy was sitting on a hard plastic chair, repeating over and over again he didn't know who killed Neil. “We fought that night, but he drove off, okay?” Billy insisted. “I didn't kill him, and I don't know who did. He had a lot of enemies.”

“ _Bullshit_!” Mr Waters hissed, slamming his fist on the table as he spoke. “I know you did it, Hargrove. Don't you dare think I don't know.”

“But I didn’t--”

“You’re a murderer,” The man said, straightening to look Billy in the eye. “You killed your father. I can’t prove it, but I know you did. You’ve got that look, Hargrove. You’ve killed before and got away with it, and you’ve done it again. I’m not letting you walk free. Not letting you get away with killing another person like you did with my son.”

Silence filled the room. Billy stared up at the man, blue eyes wide and full of hatred. “I didn't kill Tyler,” He spat. “I didn't kill him. I _loved_ him, you prick! I was in love with him! He was beaten up because me and him, we were faggots. Stop trying to blame me for his death!” Billy stood up and kicked the plastic chair away. “I was in love with your son! _I fucking loved him_! _I would never hurt a hair on his head_!” Billy finally went quiet when his voice cracked, causing him to turn away. He couldn't afford to cry, not in front of those men. After confessing he was gay, he could only hope that they would try to do their jobs properly. That the other detective would keep insisting that Billy didn't do it instead of deciding since Billy was a fag he must have been the culprit. He swallowed, then looked up at both of them. The two detectives had moved away and were talking in hushed voices in the corner of the room. Billy could just hear them.

“I wasn't informed about this,” The other detective, Pablo, quietly murmured into Mr Waters’ ear. “You shouldn’t have taken this case if you had past relations with one of the witnesses. You know that, Henry. The captain is going to be mad.”

“Let him be mad,” Mr Waters said in a monotone voice. “I’m putting this kid away, Pablo. I know he did it.”

“That’s enough, Henry. The kid is innocent. He’s gay, and he was in love with your son, but he hasn't killed anyone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fan of homos myself, but a kid like him? Gotta be just a phase, Henry. He’ll get over it. Let him go.”

“But he--”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Pablo patted Mr Waters’ shoulder and walked towards Billy, who was hugging himself and trying to shrink into the wall. “You can go, son. Find yourself a nice girl, keep your head down, alright? It’ll pass.”

Billy wanted to punch the man. Instead he nodded and inched towards the door, letting Pablo unlock it for him before he slipped out and walked down the hallway with his eyes on the floor. He was nearly at the door when a flash of red hair at the front desk caught his eye, followed by Max’s angry voice. “He didn't _do_ anything! They cant just keep bringing him in when he’s innocent!”

The girl was arguing with the secretary. Behind her were three boys, looking embarrassed at her outburst. Will, Dustin and Lucas were quietly telling her to calm down. “He’ll be fine, Max, really,” Little Byers insisted, before going owl-eyed at Max’s fiery look and looking away. Billy couldn't help it – he grinned and approached them.

“Hiya, Mad Max,” He said, ruffling her hair from behind. She turned and grinned up at him.

“Thank god,” She said, sighing in relief. “You were gone for hours this time. I was worried. Thought they’d arrest you for a crime you didn't even commit.”

“You should trust the justice system,” Billy quipped.

“I cant even trust the corner store to have Twinkies. How can I trust the system when its nothing but a scam?” She shot a glare back at the secretary and grabbed Billy’s arm. “Come on, lets go. You need to give the boys a ride home, I said you would if Lucas’ mum dropped us off.”

“Jesus Christ, Max. I have plans, you know that.”

“Yeah, me _too_ , which is why I need to get them home!” She punched his shoulder and ignored his growl of anger before shoving the boys out of the police station. “Come _on_ , Billy!” She whined, glancing back at him. He groaned and followed her, a headache already beginning to develop.

Once all the kids had been dropped off, including Max at her Lucas’ house, Billy started to drive towards Steve’s house on instinct. It had been two days since he had last seen the boy, and Billy was starting to get worried. Since their embarrassing confessions, they had been attached at the hip for weeks, whispering _I love you_ in each other’s ears, sneakily brushing their hands together in the school hallways. But Steve had been busy for two days, and Billy hated to admit it, but he was getting a little lonely.

When he pulled up the driveway and saw Steve’s father’s car, he understood. Of course Steve was busy, his parents were home. They usually went away for months at a time, Billy had only met them a few times. He didn't want to go inside and act flirty towards Steve’s mother, he wanted to act flirty towards _Steve_. But the parents were obstacles he had to face, so he sighed and got out of the car.

The first thing he noticed when he arrived on the doorstep was that there was yelling inside. He peeked through the window and saw Steve sitting on the couch, pouting, as Mr Harrington waved a piece of paper in his face. Billy wasn't sure if it was a good time, but he wanted to save Steve from the misery. He knew the family cared about their image a lot, decided to use that against them.

_Ding, dong!_

The sound echoed through the house. Billy stood on the doorstep and straightened up as Mrs Harrington opened the double doors. “Billy!” She said cheerfully. “What a surprise! Come in, come in, _Stephano_ and his father are in the lounge room,” She paused as Billy walked into the threshold, then grabbed his arm. “You didn't hear anything, did you?” She asked, her big smile still plastered on her face. She then said a bunch of garbled Greek that Billy didn't understand. He stared at her until she laughed and said, “Arguments happen.”

“No idea what you’re referring to,” Billy said quietly, smiling at her. She patted his arm and lead him into the lounge room, where Mr Harrington was calmly sitting back down on an armchair, picking up his newspaper. Steve glanced up, his miserable face cheering up at the sigh of Billy. Billy grinned. “Hi, _Stephano_ ,” He said in a sing song voice. Steve rolled his eyes and stood up.

“We’re going out,” He told his parents, brushing his hand against Billy’s lower back. He shivered and nodded at the parents.

“Mr Harrington. Mrs Harrington,” Billy said as a way of goodbye before following Steve outside. The older boy was already sitting in Billy’s car, his arms wrapped around himself and his expression blank. When Billy sat down in the drivers seat beside him, there was nothing but silence. He could feel the sadness radiating off of Steve, could feel the frustration and repressed tears threatening to spill.

“You okay?” Billy asked softly as they pulled out of Steve’s driveway. The other boy shook his head and ground his teeth.

“I’m just… He keeps saying I’m dumb and...” Steve let out a huff and crossed his arms. “And I think I might be? Like, really fucking stupid. Cant do anything right, cant get into college, cant get good grades. And like, you’d think he’d be trying to help me, but he’s not? Just says that I’m dumb. Says that he’s going to get me into college next year whether I like it or not, and I have to do business, and live a pretty little life like his. He’s been such a dick lately and I keep fighting with him! And he’ll yell at me when I slam my door or if I accidentally break something or hell, even if I just use the phone! He’s such a _prick_!” Steve ranted, throwing his arms up into the air. “God, I don't even know why he _wants_ me to go to college! Everyone knows I’m just going to end up working for him anyway. Don't have any talents apart from fucking up and fighting monsters. He’s probably so pissed because I’m turning nineteen next week, and I have yet to fucking… I dunno, cure cancer or something.”

Billy was quiet. He listened to the older boy’s rant, keeping his eyes on the road. He thought about sunny beaches and seven foot high waves. Closed his eyes, then opened them again. Decided to speak. “You don't have to work for him, you know. You could always… Run away. With me. I’m going back to California when I graduate. Come with me. We can get dumb little jobs and live in a dumb little apartment and be our dumb little selves.”

An uneasy silence fell over the car. Feeling stupid, Billy frowned and sped up a little. “You, uh… You wanna go and get some food?”

“Food sounds good,” Steve said quietly. He seemed to be thinking very hard about what Billy had said. Billy swallowed and pulled over.

“I’ll be back,” He told the other boy. “Burgers good?” Without waiting for an answer, he clambered out of the car with about as much grace as a baby giraffe and walked into the diner.

He wanted Steve to come with him to California more than anything. But the silence that followed after he had suggested it was both nerve racking and alarming, leading him to believe Steve’s words had been nothing but a lie. But why had the older boy said it, if it wasn't true? It was clear to Billy that Steve didn't love him the way he loved Steve, wouldn't die for the other boy like Billy would.

That hurt.

It took a lot of energy not to punch the person working at the front in the face when he messed up Billy’s order. He wanted to scream, _my boyfriend doesn't love me! Just give me a fucking break, please!_ But he didn't. He just shrugged and took the food anyway, muttering about how it didn't matter.

When he was walking back to his car, he couldn't help but kick a few rocks every few steps. He was angry. He was fucking _pissed_ , and fucking _miserable_. He wanted Steve with him, on the sandy beaches, watching the sunset and smelling the salt of the ocean. But Steve didn't fucking want that, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to cry or beat up some innocent kid.

Steve’s head of light brown hair was visible from the pavement. Billy tightened his grip on the bag containing their food, then took a deep breath and climbed into the car. “Hey,” He said. Steve murmured something incoherent and dug through the bag curiously. “Where do you want to eat?” Billy continued, itching to punch the dashboard of his car. Steve shrugged.

Counting to ten in his head, Billy sped down the country road with the radio blasting. He drove for fifteen minutes before skidding to a stop in front of a gate that said _Private Property_. He scowled, then got out of the car and kicked the gate open, the rusty useless lock falling down, broken.

Once the car was at the top of the hill, Billy felt like he could finally breath. The entirety of Hawkins could be seen, from the spot he was standing. He had heard Dustin Henderson and Mike Wheeler talking about it once.

The grass tickled against Billy’s legs, causing him to scuff his foot over the dandelions and green hilltop. Behind him, he could hear Steve moving about, before there was arms around his waist. “Wow. We can see pretty far from here, huh?”

“I get that you don't want to move away with me,” Billy said quietly, tensing up as Steve’s grip loosened slightly. “And I get that you don't feel the same way about me as I do about you,” He turned and stared into Steve’s confused eyes, grinding his teeth. “You can just fucking tell me.”

“What… Okay, _wow_ ,” Steve laughed and looked up at the sky. “You think I don't love you.”

“I _know_ you don't love me!”

“Just because I was quiet for like, ten minutes? After you asked me to run away to California with me?” The way Steve was speaking made Billy and the thing he had been stewing about sound stupid. He stammered for an answer, then shoved Steve by the shoulder and plopped down on the ground.

“I just don't want to fucking lose you,” He said softly, tying a blade of grass into a knot and looking up at the other boy. “I fucking love you. I’m so scared that you don't love me,” Steve’s mouth parted into a surprised _o_. He sat down next to Billy, removing the knotted grass from his hand.

“I do love you,” Steve murmured. “I love you so much. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a _prick_ ,” He tugged on one of Billy’s curls playfully. “But I love you. A lot.”

“Come to California with me,” Billy insisted, shaking Steve’s hands desperately. “I get that you have a life here, babe, but I can’t leave you. I can’t leave you here, and I can’t fucking handle this fucking small town. Please, please, _please_ leave with me.”

Steve was quiet for a moment before saying, “I could get a job at some sort of fast food chain.”

Billy wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to kiss the boy in front of him until they were both breathless. But instead, he smiled, reaching up and cupping Steve’s face. “I’ll work at a surf store. We can rent a shitty little apartment.”

“With a cat.”

“With a cat,” Billy agreed. “We’ll name him Meatball.”

That had them both laughing, tears streaking down their faces as they exchanged kisses. “I fucking love you,” Billy whispered, gripping Steve’s hair tightly. “ _Fuck_ , Steve. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Steve replied. “We’re going to get out of here, Billy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I didn't want to end the book like this, but I thought it kind of fit. Things have been resolved... Kind of. The readers found out about Tyler, Billy and Steve admit they love each other, Tyler's dad is going to get replaced, Billy and Steve want to run away together. So now its just the epilogue left!   
> As always, my tumblr is xxlost-in-starsxx if you wanted to follow me.  
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Four Years Later

The funny thing about hate is that it brings people together. Hate can form a bond that love cannot. Crime can cause some of the best friends – or lovers – in the world. Murder can create a relationship between two boys who thought they hated each other.

Billy Hargrove, who goes by Billy Harrington these days, stands at the waters edge, the tide rushing over his feet before being sucked back out into the ocean. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and doesn't think about Neil’s blood.

He imagines Max’s fiery red hair.

He smiles at Steve’s dark brown eyes.

He softens at his mothers smile, kissing him on the forehead and telling him it will all be okay.

And now, he opens his eyes. The ocean is in front of him. Steve is beside him. Max is at the skate park. His mother is buried six feet underground. And that’s the way he likes it. Because the fine line between love and hate is one he’s walked many times, discovering that he still loves the people he thought he hated most. Discovering that having one foot on either side of the line is okay, he can still have a playful meanness towards those he loves. And finding out that he could spend years upon years of hatred on those people, only to realise he could never _not_ love them.

Billy imagines a slap to his face, _faggot_ being screamed, and blood on his hands. He tenses, then releases the tension and walks into the water, his surfboard tucked under his arm. He can feel Steve watching him intensely, and turns around to blow him a kiss.

The beach is Billy’s home. He refuses to leave. He paddles out, over the little waves, and to where his feet no longer touch the bottom. There, he sits, waits, for the perfect moment.

One is approaching in the distance. Billy grins like a shark at it, and imagines Steve’s brown eyes again. Its been three years since he’s surfed, but that will not stop him. He’s going to do this, he can fucking _do this_. He’s going to ride the wave all the way to the sand, and there, he will wrap his arms around Steve and kiss him as hard as he can on the lips.

The wave reaches him. He starts to swim faster, kicking his legs until the white sea foam catches him in its grasp. They surge forward. Billy feels the wind on his face as he stands up, feels the spray of the ocean threatening to push him off. Its natural, surfing is. As natural as kissing Steve’s forehead on a hazy morning when they’re pressed together in bed. As natural as following Steve into the basement of the mall, discovering the Russians who made themselves at home down there, as natural as holding Steve’s hand when they watch the girl, Eleven, talk to a flayed Heather Holloway with tears running down her face.

Catching the wave is natural. He feels at home on his surfboard, speeding along as if he is part of the ocean itself. A cold case enters his mind.

Two detectives, eventually giving up and archiving the murder case. He smiles, thinks about Steve’s eyes again.

Wipes out.

Gets back on his board, and catches another wave.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the book! Kudos and comments make my day! If you wanted to talk, come and message me on tumblr at xxlost-in-starsxx and we'll chat about my dumb children, aka the party + billy and steve. im tired and my m key is glitching. my grammar and capitals are gone because im tired. this is weird. im going to sleep.  
> nighty night even tho its 1:15pm here in australia.   
> xoxoxo  
> -kai


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